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ROWLAND'S    MACASSAR    OIL 

■ifprvp!!   rmd    bcciiiti1i-fi   t!i" 
mini:  (nvj",  etadipati-K  uniit  c 
imtifullv  Boft,  pliabli-,  unJ  ;,'l..tiv  ;  wliili 
■Q'ied  (ur 

M  f-inii'ui^'  the  luuiri  nf  n  ).'iiitiftil  luwl  .>f  li:kir.  It  ''■kn  tvw  ••'•: 
l-')rvl  >.f  >|?.l.l<.'no.1.>-ir:.>  I'.'ll  w.  in  tlu- ..Miiuiiv  Unl.  w^<.!....tl 
in    imj-    wiiy    rl,-tr.wt!ll„'    tin:,    it,    w.!l  klmii-u 'U;i^i  J!il    «i,.J 

SOLD    BY    CHEMISTS.  [..] 

DANIEL  OWEN,  HOWELL  &  Co., 

IBiiiUciii,  |3uMiSijtid,  a.il6otjinj)6fiii, 

BOOKBISDEllS.    ACCOUM    liiHiK    JIANL'F.\an;i;i;> 

WHOLESALE    STATIONERS. 

Printers  to  the  Corporation  of  Cardifi^  the  Bute  Docks  Estate,  Bookbinders 
to  the  Cardiff  Free  Library  and  Swansea  Free  Library. 

:f>"U"bltst3:ers    of 

abc  eailwat  time  tables, 

casditf  troe  tables  and  almanac, 

illustrated  guide  to  cardiff. 

THE    BED    DRAGON    (the  National  Magazine  of  Wales),  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

lE-Qot  -i-  golling  -f  and  4-  Suling  t  dene  +  Ecr  4-  the  -J-  5(JfaJc-> 

ESTIMATES    QIVEN    TO    AUTHORS. 

THE    EETAIL    ESTABLISHMENT 

la  replete  vith  evirv  kind  of 

COMMERCIAL   AND    LAW    STATIONERY. 

WESTERN    MAIL    BUILDINGS, 


RED    DRAGON 


The  National  Magazine  of  Wales. 


Edited  iiv   CHAULES   WILKINS. 


Vol.   III. — Janl'arv   to  June,    1883. 


CARDIFK?' 
daniel  owen   and 


INDEX. 


I'AGX. 
A  Ua\  \v  it  li  tho  First  L«)Cuiiiotivf.     Hy  John  Ho  we  IN  ...  ...     226 

Alierd«»v».y,  The  r.ellsof.     By  W.  H.  S 45r» 

A   My»«t»:-rinuH  DiHap})earaiicv      ...  ...         ...  ...  ...         ...       i)4 

l^ior.RArHY — 

BnitiiK  ( David  Owen.)     By  CJla^wy^          ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  :J85 

Meilx-'il,  Judge.     By  Thonian  Henry  Kn.sor        1 

Howell,  James.     By  (i.  H.              ...          ...          ...          ...          ...          ...  97 

Ma«oij,  Ricliai-d.     By  the  Editor 289 

Ullivant,  A.,  BishopOf  Llandaff.     By  John  Coke  Fowh-r         193 

Williani!*,  Minn.     By  the  Editor      481 

l^int  or  Ap  Hywel  iu  lA^gend  of  MimniouthKhirel.     By  Llyfr  Coch         ...     536 

B<»nti\v  ideor^'e^  in  Wales.     Jiy  Tal-a-lu'-n       ...  ...     353 

< 'ulifornia  '.Southern),  Ni>te«  <»n...  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  548 

(.'roniwi'lTs  Family — th«-ir  Ci^nn'ction  with  Wales.      Bj  J.  Howells  ...        27 

Draconi^'enie  H,  190,  287,  384,  478,  576 

EnuliKh  People,  The  Origin  of  the.     By  William  MathewH  (Ap  Mathew)    ...     424 

Kist«rddf<xJ,  Tile.     By  Brinley  RichaniM  348 

Kpigranm  and  KpitnpliH    ...         ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...         ...     154 

<;».-«iio«noal  Xot«-s  and  HeminiscenceM  of  Central  Wjih-s,     Bv  1).  (iriffiths    201,  415 
<;l:»nioigan.  Tin-  1.4i!-t  liattle  in.     By  (iiralduN  151 

<iO.NNH»    KKOM    THK    WkI>H    CoLLEORS — 

JcMiKC«»lltge,  OxfonJ.     By  Llyfr  Coeh      ...71,  2»;«i,  464 

St.  David'H  College,  Lanii»eter.     By  T 72,  270,  3.S1,  568 

I'niver.^ity  Ct»lh^c  of    Wales,  Al>ervstwitfa.     By  O.  M.  E. 

7r»,  268,  382,  460,  570 

Half-an-hour  with  my  Dictionary.     By  T.  C.  !.■.       ...         ...         512 

How  Cholera  ix  Spread  in  WaleM...  ...  ...         ...  ...         ...         ...     143 

H nntiniL^  in  Wales.     By  IL  D.  (J.  Price. . .  ...         ...         ...  ...         ...     252 

LlandatT,  Tliree  SccneH  at.     By  the  Edit«>r    ...         88 

IJyir  C<K!h  o'  Hergent.     Bv  Llyfr  C(K.'h  ...         ...         ...         ...         ...     160 

Lilirarv  Bf)*)kH,  Mai-ginal  Notes  on         82,  180,  275,  361,  4r.9,  556 

Literary  and  Art  Notes  i»f  the  Month 90,  186,  281,  366,  472,  560 

Malory,  Sir  Thom;ut — a  Forgotten  Welsh  Woi-thy.     By  J.  H.  498 

Mn^sa*c^e  (Thei  of  the  Innocents.     By  an  Ex-Scho<»l  Boanl  Meml)er  ...     249 

Of  Hiifh  Degiee.     By  Charles  (;ibU»n 14,  111,  212,  295,  406,  485 

Ollivant  fA.),  Late  Bishop  of  Llandaff.  In  Memoriani.  By  J.  K.  OUivant  436 
Chir  "  Red  Dragons  "  at  Westminster.  By  A.  Pendragon.  78,  272,  372,  468,  572 
Out  in  the  Snow     ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...     128 

Oxff>rd  Univentity,  Life  at.     By  Llyfr  Coch      ...         ...         ...     174 

By  Llyfr  Dn         376 

PeinbriikeMihire  (In),  with  a  Sketch  B<M)k.     By  John  Kogers  Bees    ...  3!i,  161 

Ploughing  uith  Oxen  in  (.ilaniorgan.     By  T.  C.  Evans  ...  136.430 

Poetry— 

A  Komance  of  Peiinard  <iower.     By  Robt^rt  D.  Bumie ...  38 

Baddo  the  Sea.     By  Tylke 124 

Daphne.     By  F.  K.  L.          ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  319 

Liom  to  the  Welfib  Harp.     By  Ysgafell 576 

May.     By  liavydd  ap  (iw'ilyni.     Translateil  by  A.  J.  Johnes    ..          ...  4S6 


\y;DKX.—('o,ififtifflff. 

roETRY,  Continued.  -  tage. 

OnlyaStep.     Ry  T.  Kyle iV.) 

Spring.     By  Kdw'urd  Foulkwi          ...         ...         ...          ...         ...         ...  'IIS 

The  Ban!  and  the  Cuckuu.     l»y  (.)\v'iiin  (riutfydd.     Tran.slatud  by   Ii'>rd 

Al>erdHrc             ...         ...         ...          ...         ...         ...         ...          ...  51  i» 

The  Bard  and  the  Shaduw.     By  Davydd  up  (rwilyni.     Tran>lati(l  l»y 

A.  J.  Johnes       ...          ...          ...          ...          ...          ...          ...          ...  24*) 

The  Baitl's  Appeal.     By  the  Ke.v.  Th<niia.>*  June.**...          ...          ...         ..  141 

The  Tiav  <»f  King  WeneewlaH.      By  Ap  I»>1«»            ...          ...          ...          ...  r»(»'.» 

The  (^liet  Mind.     By  T.  J.  P.     ' 225 

The  Swan.     By  Davydd  ap  Gwilyi".     Tnmslated  by  A.  J.  .Iohri«.>      ...  :',7»\* 

To  the  Stars.     By  Davydd  ap  (iwilyni.     Tran.slated  by  A.  .1.  Johnes  ...  ♦;.'. 

Hemini»ceuceH  of  Cwmtwrch.     (An  Alh-jrory.i     By  John  .lontis,  Observatin  v 

Cottage            ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...          ...  -i'lO 

Sin  Kater  (The^.     By  Askew  K«)l>eiU \m> 

Shake.si^eare  in  Wak-rt.     By  the  Kditor  ...          ...          ...          ...          ...          ...  170 

Shipping  (The),  of  Wides.     By  the  Editor        242 

Studies  in  Lewis  Morris.     By    J.  Cvnddvlaii  .Jones  ...         ...         2.'i«>,  1)88 

Wales,  Crime  in.     l^y  S.  H.  Jones- Barry           ...          ...          ...          ...          ...  r»2.'; 

Wale.s,  George  Borrow  in.     By  Tal-a-hen          ...          ...          ...         ...          ...  ',^i>'» 

Wki^h  Chakactkr  Skktohks— 

The  Mumbl€«  Boatmen.     By  ('.   D.  M :J44 

The  Old  Caravan.     By  A p  Adda r>31 

The  Old  Puddler.     By  Merlin 44:! 

The  Old  Welsh  Gentleman.     By  .\p  Adda         2r.7 

The  Villa«re  (Irocer.     By  Ap  A«hia          12.'. 

The  Welsh  Darlimr.s.     By  Ap  Adda         :{44 

Women's  Clulw.     liy  Ap  Adda 2Gs 

Welsh  Members  of  Fornmr  A<lministrations    ..  ...         ...         ...        311,  .'J40 

Origin  <.f  Latin  Blace-Xames.     By  L  G V.\  144.  222 

A  Criticism.     By  .I<»hn  l^-wie.-*        ...  r»U» 


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NOTABLE    MEN   OF    WALES. 


JUDGE  HERBERT. 


We  present  our  readers  this  month  with  the  portrait  of  Mr. 
John  Jllaurice  Herbert,  the  late  eminent  Judge  of  the  County 
Courts  of  Cardiff  and  Monmouthshire,  whose  sudden  and  lamented 
death  has  been  so  recently  recorded.  In  the  following  pages 
we  propose  to  give  a  biographical  sketch  of  this  excellent  and 
distinguished  public  man.  Our  endeavour  will  be,  not  to  write 
a  memoir  such  as  would  satisfy  the  just  expectivtions  of  his 
numerous  acquaintances  and  friends,  for  which,  even  if  our 
space  would  permit  the  performance  of  so  congenial  a  task, 
we  do  not  possess  the  materials ;  neither  do  we  arrogate  to 
ourselves  the  faculty  of  inditing  such  an  essay  as  shall  not  be 
amenable  to  a  strict  measure  of  literary  criticism ;  but  we  trust 
we  shall  be  enabled  to  lay  before  the  public  such  particulars  of 
the  life,  and  incidents  in  the  career,  of  a  great  and  good  man, 
who  was  well  known  and  much  beloved  in  those  districts  which 
were  the  scene  of  his  labours,  as  may  interest  the  general  reader, 
and  be  not  altogether  unworthy  of  the  favorable  consideration 
of  those  to  whom  his  memory  is  dear.  If  we  succeed  to  any 
extent  in  this  modest  endeavour,  every  object  we  have  in  view 
will  have  been  realised. 

Mr.  Herbert  was  the  second  son  of  the  late  John  Lawrence 
Herbert,  Esq.,  of  Newhall,  in  the  parish  of  Kerry,  in  the  county 
of  Montgomery — ^by  his  marriage  with  Joyce  Susannah,  daughter 
of  Charles  Thomas  Jones,  Esq.,  of  Fronfaith,  in  the  parish  of 
Llandyssil,  in  the  same  county.  He  was  bom  on  the  15th  July, 
1808,  his  father  having  died  shortly  before.  His  mother  sul> 
sequently  married  Thomas  Maddy,  Esq.,  of  Moreton  House, 
near  Hereford,  and  came  to  reside  in  Herefordshire ;  and  to 
this  circumstance  it  is  owing  that  the  subject  of  this  memoir 
was  educated  in  the  Cathedral  School  at  Hereford,  and  became 
in  after  years  closely  connected  with  that  city,  and  the  county 
to  which  it  gives  a  name.  After  passing  his  curriculum  there 
with  diligence  and  success,  he  proceeded  to  the  University  of 
Cambridge,  and  entered  at  the  College  of  St.  John's.  There  the 
indnstzy  and  assiduity  which  had  marked  his  school  days  again 

A 


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^•■■^ 


2  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

became  apparent,  and  that  he  proved  himself  to  be  the  best  man 
in  his  college  is  attested  by  the  fact  that  in  the  years  1828  and 
1829  successively  he  took  the  Wright's  Prize.  He  graduated 
as  eighth  Wrangler  in  the  year  1830 — the  Senior  Wrangler  of  that 
year  being  his  first  cousin,  Mr.  C.  T.  Whitley,  now  vicar  of 
Bedlington,  in  the  county  of  Northumberland — and  he  subse- 
quently became  a  Fellow  of  his  College.  He  was  called  to  the 
Bar  by  the  Honourable  Society  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  on  the  8th 
May,  1835,  and  joined  the  Oxford  Circuit  in  the  times  of 
Campbell  and  Maule,  Phillips  and  Talfourd ;  and  the  reminis- 
cences of  those  days  frequently  formed,  in  after  years,  the 
subject  of  much  interesting  conversation.  His  business  on 
circuit  was  inconsiderable;  but  he  was,  nevertheless,  a  close 
observer  of  those  members  of  it  who  enjoyed  a  large  practice, 
and  had  risen  to  eminence,  and  from  them  he  doubtless  learnt 
much  which  afterwards  became  of  service  to  him.  It  was  how- 
ever in  London  that  his  business  principally  lay,  and  there  he 
practised,  not  without  success,  as  an  Equity  draftsman  and  con- 
veyancer. It  did  not  fall  to  his  lot  long  to  follow  the  ordinary 
routine  of  the  profession ;  for,  shortly  j5ter  th^  passing  of  the 
Tithes  Conmiutation  Act,  in  1826,  he  was  appointed  to  the 
office  of  an  "Assistant  Commissioner."  He  did  not  permit 
himself  however  to  be  wholly  absorbed  in  the  duties  of  his 
profession,  or  in  the  dry  pursuit  of  the  law.  He  diligently  kept 
up  his  mathematical  and  classical  studies,  and  prosecuted 
an  extended  course  of  historical,  scientific,  and  literary  study. 
Of  this  his  early  letters  to  his  friends  give  ample  proof,  and  the 
following  extract  from  a  letter  of  one  of  his  college  "  chums  " 
indicates  the  hopes  which  his  University  career  had  excited : — 
"  Keep  up  your  heart,  my  dear  M.  Jean "  (apparently  an  old 
college  novime  de  caresse),  "  there  is  something  still  in  reser\'e 
for  you.    As  your  favourite  poet  says : 

'  There  is  a  nest  in  a  green  dale, 

A  haven  and  a  hold. 
Where  you  shall  live  beciire  and  see 
Your  own  delightful  days  and  be 

A  light  to  young  and  old.' " 

This  delightful  prediction  was  destined  to  become  amply  verified. 
But  to  resume  our  narrative. 

On  receiving  his  appointment  under  the  Tithe  Act,  Mr. 
Herbert  at  once  applied  himself  with  devotion  to  his  new  duties. 
These,  which  were  accompanied  by  an  inadequate  remuneration, 
entailed  no  small  amount  of  physical  effort.  The  days  were  not 
those  of  developed  railway  communication,  when  one  can  be 
whirled  from  Penzance  to  Aberdeen  in  a  luxurious  vehicle,  which 
causes  little  more  inconvenience  than  sitting  in  one's  own 
drawing-room ;  but  when,  in  summer  and  winter,  in  sunshine 
and  Bleety  in  firost  and  in  snow,  the  ordinary  mode  of  locomotion 


JUDGE   HERBERT.  3 

was  by  the  old  stage  coach.  As  Assistant  Tithe  Commissioner, 
Mr.  Herbert  had  to  travel  by  this  happily-superseded  convey- 
ance many  thousands  of  miles  a  year,  deciding  points  of  law 
raised  during  the  progress  of  the  Commutation — one  week  in 
Norfolk,  another  in  Kent,  or  elsewhere.  He  thus  saw  as  much 
of  travelling,  and  became  as  well  acquainted  with  the  coach- 
roads  of  England,  as  most  people  of  his  day.  The  incidents  of 
this  occupation  became  well  fixed  in  his  memory,  and  often 
afforded  the  subject  of  agreeable  anecdote.  On  one  occasion, 
whilst  travelling  by  a  fast  night  mail,  the  driver  suddenly  came 
upon  a  stout  gate,  which  was  illegally  made  to  open  across  the 
turnpike  road,  instead  of  away  from  it  into  the  adjoining  field. 
To  have  driven  against  it,  as  it  stood  across  the  road,  would  have 
entailed  dire  disaster.  There  was,  however,  no  time  to  draw  up; 
but  the  fearful  accident  which  seemed  impending  was  averted 
by  the  ready  forethought  of  the  coachman,  who  pulled  his 
horses  short  round,  and  drove  into  the  field.  On  another  occasion 
Mr.  Herbert  was  witness  to  a  remarkable  escape  from  accident, 
which  it  is  interesting  to  record.  Whilst  he  was  travelling  by  a 
coach,  which  was  proceeding  at  a  rapid  rate,  a  little  child  was 
seen  to  run  out  into  the  road,  and  sit  down  on  a  spot  which  in  a 
second  or  two  would  be  traversed  by  the  horses.  Tliere  was  no 
time  to  stop,  and  the  instant  death  of  the  poor  child  seemed 
inevitable.  With  rare  and  most  commendable  presence  of  mind, 
the  coachman  dropped  his  hand  so  as  to  loosen  the  reins  as  much 
as  possible,  and  thereupon  the  horses,  seeing  the  danger,  and 
seeming  instinctively  to  appreciate  the  object  of  the  driver, 
opened  out  on  each  side  of  the  child,  and  they  and  the  coach 
passed  over  without  touching  it.  The  late  Judge  used  to  say 
that  those  were  the  two  most  forcible  instances  of  readiness  of 
resource  that  ever  came  under  his  notice. 

He  used  to  tell  an  anecdote  of  his  experience  as  Tithe  Com- 
missioner— that  soon  after  his  appointment  a  case  came  before 
him  in  which  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  was  concerned,  and  the 
opposing  party  insisted  on  His  Grace  being  subpcenaed  for 
examination.  Accordingly,  Mr.  Herbert  issued  his  subpoena 
for  the  Duke  to  attend  before  him  at  his  chambers^  up  a  fourth 
floor  in  Lincoln's  Inn.  The  Duke  came,  and  was  asked  some 
trumpery  question  about  the  value  of  a  modus  in  the  reign  of 
Richard  II. ;  whereupon  he  imploringly  asked  for  the  Com- 
missioner's protection,  and  pointed  out  the  impossibility  of 
answering  such  an  inquiry.  Air.  Herbert  was  w^ont  to  allude  to 
this  circumstance  as  illustrative  of  the  power  of  the  law — that 
he,  a  junior  barrister,  of  three  or  four  years'  standing,  could 
summon  the  Premier  Peer  of  England  to  appear  before  him  in 
a  **  cock-loft/*  in  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  that  the  latter  dare  not  dis- 
obey the  Bommons. 

In  the  year  1844  Mr.  Herbert  was  appointed  one  of  the  Com- 

A  2 


4  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

missioners  for  enfranchising  the  assessionable  manors  of  the 
Duchy  of  Cornwall,  and  for  that  purpose  he  went  to  reside  for 
two  years  in  the  county — first  at  the  Prior}%  Bodmin;  and 
subsequently  at  Bosvigo.  When  he  received  the  appointment, 
it  was  an  instruction  to  him  not  to  speculate  in  any  mines  in 
Cornwall.  It  so  happened  that  one  of  his  co-Commissioners 
came  to  him,  and  told  him  that  he  had  been  offered  twenty 
shares  in  a  new  mine  of  great  promise,  which  had  been  opened 
just  across  the  river,  in  Devonshire  (now  known  as  the  Great 
Devon  Consols),  at  £1  premium,  the  shares  being  £l  each; 
and  that  he  was  willing  to  take  half  of  them,  if  Mr.  Herbert 
would  take  the  other  half.  Mr.  Herbert  seemed  to  doubt  if  it 
would  not  be  drawing  the  line  too  finely,  to  speculate  in  a  mine 
so  little  removed  from  the  proscribed  county,  and  it  was  deter- 
mined to  let  a  consideration  of  the  matter  stand  over  till  they 
met  again.  Before,  however,  their  next  meeting  took  place,  the 
lode  was  struck,  and  such  was  its  extreme  richness  that  shares 
in  the  mine  became  of  enormous  value.  Each  share  was  divided 
into  eighths,  and  every  eighth  became  worth  £750,  or  there- 
abouts. Vexatious  as  it  is  to  think  that  he  missed  so  great  an 
opportunity,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  loss  was  attributable 
to  a  too  sensitive  construction  of  the  condition  annexed  by  the 
authorities  to  his  acceptance  of  the  appointment. 

In  the  year  1846  the  Act  for  the  establishment  of  County 
Courts  in  England  was  matured  by  Sir  James  Graham,  the  able 
Home  Secretary  in  the  Government  of  Sir  Robert  Peel.  The  Bill 
passed  into  law  in  the  same  session  of  Parliament,  but  after  Lonl 
John  Russell  had  become  First  Minister  of  the  Crown.  A  more 
prodigal  or  splendid  profusion  of  patronage  never  fell  to  the  lot 
of  any  Minister  than  that  which  fell  to  the  then  Lord  Chancellor. 
True  to  the  traditions  of  his  party.  Lord  Cottenham  proceeded 
to  dispense  the  enormous  patronage  thus  acquired  amongst 
Whig  lawyers  almost  exclusively.  It  was  from  him  that 
Mr.  Herbert  received  his  appointment  as  a  judge  of  County 
Courts ;  and  we  cannot  forbear  to  say  that  if  all  the  appoint- 
ments made  on  the  occasion  alluded  to  had  been  equally 
commendable,  little  exception  could  have  been  taken  to  the  political 
bias  of  the  occupant  of  the  woolsack.  It  was  not,  however, 
owing  to  any  accident  of  a  political  character  that  Mr.  Herbert 
secured  his  appointment.  His  selection  was  due  to  the  strong 
recommendation  of  the  Right  Hon.  Pemberton  Leigh  — 
afterwards.  Lord  Kingsdown — of  whom,  in  passing,  it  may  be 
remarked  that  a  large  portion  of  his  long  and  useful  life  was 
gratuitously  devoted  to  the  judicial  service  of  the  countrv. 

The  circuit  to  which  Mr.  Herbert  was  appointed  comprised 

the  towns  of  Presteign,  Knighton,  I^ominster,  Hereford,  Ross, 

Monmouth,    Usk,   Chepstow,  Newport,    Pontypool,    Tredegar, 

and    Abergiivenny,      At     that     time,    on     account    of     the 


JUDGE   HERBERT.  5 

entire  absence  of  railway  communication,  the  judge  had  to 
drive  from  town  to  town  in  his  own  carriage.  There  are, 
doubtless,  many  now  living  who  will  remember  the  four-wheeled 
dogcart  and  pair  with  which  he  used  to  itinerate  the  country. 
One  of  the  horses  was  a  bay,  called  "  Justice,"  partly  because  he 
was  purchased  from  Lord  IVedegar's  late  respected  agent  of  that 
name,  and  partly  out  of  regard  for  the  principle  which  it  was  the 
Judge's  mission  to  uphold.  The  other  was  a  wonderful  little 
dark  iron-grey,  called  "  Cottenham,"  in  honour  of  the  Chancellor 
to  whom  Mr.  Herbert  owed  his  appointment.  The  Judge  was  a 
very  good  "  whip,"  and  usually  drove  himself,  attended  by  his 
coachman ;  and  he  thus  gained  a  good  deal  of  experience,  which 
stood  him  in  good  stead  in  all  those  questions  of  coachmanship 
and  rules  of  the  road  which  so  frequently  came  before  him 
during  his  long  occupancy  of  a  seat  on  the  judicial  bench. 

In  the  year  1858  his  circuit  became  considerably  altered, 
the  towns  of  Presteign,  Knighton,  Leominster  and  Hereford 
being  taken  away,  and  Crickhowell  and  the  imi>ortant  town 
and  district  of  Cardiff  being  added  to  it. 

When  the  County  Courts  were  originally  established  they 
were  known  as  the  "  Small  Debts  Courts."  Their  jurisdiction 
extended  only  to  claims  not  exceeding  £20 ;  and,  with  respect 
to  many  of  these,  there  existed  a  concurrent  jurisdiction  of  the 
Sui)erior  Courts.  In  the  latter,  the  attomeys-at-law — now 
solicitors  simply — had  a  sort  of  protection  extended  to  them 
by  the  reservation  of  a  right  to  sue  and  to  be  sued  there  exclu- 
sively. The  new  system  was  not  popular  either  with  the  public 
or  with  the  profession,  and  by  the  latter  it  was  regarded  with 
distrust  for  some  years  after  its  establishment.  But,  under  such 
judges  as  Mr.  Herbert  and  Mr.  Falconer — who  so  recently  and 
amidst  universal  regret  predeceased  his  friend  and  colleague — 
it  rapidly  gained  in  public  confidence.  The  jurisdiction  of  the 
court  has  since  been  largely  extended.  It  deals  exclusively,  so  far  as 
what  may  be  called  its  common  law  jurisdiction  is  concerned, 
with  claims  not  exceeding  £50,  and  it  is  apparent  that  this  limit 
will  soon  be  greatly  exceeded.  It  now  possesses  an  Equity 
jurisdiction  over  claims  extending  to  £500,  and  a^  Admiralty 
jurisdiction  which  may  be  generally  stated  at  £300.  When  the 
latter  was  added,  the  judges  whom  it  affected  were  teomewhat 
inconsiderately  treated  by  the  Government  of  the  day. .  The  Bill 
which  added  the  hearing  of  Admiralty  cases  to  their  multifarious 
duties  was  entrusted,  during  its  progress  through  the  House  of 
Commons,  to  the  care  and  guidance  of  Sir  Baliol  Brett,  the 
Solicitor-GeneraL  The  measure,  while  it  greatly  augmented 
the  work  of  some  of  the  judges — ^andnonemore  conspicuously  than 
that  of  Judge  Herbert — made  no  provision  whatever  for  increasing 
their  salaries  by  way  of  compensation,  although  it  did  so  in  the 
easeof  those  suDordinate  but  meritorous  officmls,  the  registrars 


6  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

and  high  baiUfiFs.  Mr.  Herbert  felt  this  to  be  an  injustice ;  but 
it  is  almost  unnecessary  to  say  that  he  did  not,  on  that  account, 
fail  to  apply  himself  vigorously  to  a  discharge  of  his  new  duties, 
and  to  render  the  new  jurisdiction  as  efficient  as  possible. 

Of  Mr.  Herbei-t,  as  a  judge,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  speak 
too  highly.  The  experience  of  upwards  of  a  quarter  of  a 
century  justifies  us  in  saying  that  a  more  upright,  conscientious 
and  capable  administrator  of  the  law  never  occupied  the  judicial 
seat.  He  won  the  respect  and  confidence  of  all  who  were 
brought  into  contact  with  him,  and  the  judgment  of  the  legal 
profession  was  imanimous  in  his  favour.  Not  only  was  he  a 
lawyer,  thoroughly  versed  in  all  the  decisions  of  the  courts ;  but 
he  brought  to  the  discharge  of  his  functions  a  quickness  of 
intellect  rarely  equalled.  Keady  in  a  moment  to  detect  a  flaw, 
he  was  equally  ready  to  seize  upon  the  salient  points  of  an 
argument.  When  mercantile  cases  ofgreat  weight  and  difficulty 
came  before  him,  he  never  evinced  the  slightest  impatience. 
Pleased  with  the  opportunity  of  dealing  with  such  cases,  and 
gratified,  no  doubt,  by  the  confidence  which  he  knew  he  inspired, 
he  was  ever  willing  to  afford  ample  time  to  the  elucidation  of 
the  facts,  and  he  never  failed  to  give  to  every  argument  pro  and 
con  his  most  attentive  consideration.  Frequently  of  his  own 
accord,and  always  when  requested — he  suspended  his  judgment, 
and  reduced  it  to  writing  before  delivery.  The  number  of  his 
judgments  which  were  appealed  against  was  few ;  and  when 
these  came  before  the  judges  of  the  High  Court,  their  Lord- 
ships frequently  gave  utterance  to  the  great  respect  with  which 
they  regarded  him.  It  seldom  happened  that  his  decisions  were 
reversed;  but  when  this  was  the  case,  he  invariably  regarded 
the  reversal  with  the  utmost  equanimity  and  good  temper ; 
he  was  always  glad  to  be  set  right  if  he  was  wrong.  Indeed,  in  all 
cases  in  which  he  had  a  misgiving  as  to  the  correctness  of  his 
judgment,  he  suggested  and  encouraged  an  appeal.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  any  judge  who  ever  occupied  a  seat  on  the 
English  Bench  has  tried  more  cases  than  he  has.  To  the 
discharge  of  his  duties  he  brought  an  enthusiastic  disposition 
and  an  almost  unrivalled  experience,  and  to  these  he  imited  a 
knowledge  of  law,  and  a  familiarity  with  decided  cases,  which  it 
would  be  almost  im|K)ssible  for  any  judge  to  exceed.  It  is  not 
too  much  to  say  that  he  possessed  every  qualification  for  the 
highest  offices ;  and  that,  if  it  had  been  his  lot  to  have  been 
appointed  to  the  Bench  of  the  High  Court,  he  would  have  been 
a  colleague  with  whom  lawyers  of  the  calibre  of  I^ord  Blackbiun 
and  Lord  Bramwell  would  have  been  delighted  to  co-operate. 

Numerous  are  the  tributes  which,  since  his  death,  have  been 
spontaneously  paid  to  his  merits.    Her   Majesty's   Attorney- 
General,  Sir  Henry  James,  in  a  letter  to  the  writer,   says: 
^^I  had  the  greatest   regard  for  Mr,  Herbert,  and  I  always 


JUDGE   HERBERT.  7 

considered  him  as  almost  the  very  model  of  an  English 
gentleman.  It  was  his  love  of  justice,  and  high  sense  of  right, 
which  made  him  so  good  a  judge.**  Mr.  B.  T.  Williams,  Q.C., 
the  judge  of  the  Glamorganshire  courts,  bears  similar  and 
willing  testimony.  Those  who  only  saw  Mr.  Herbert  on  the 
Bench  were  little  aware  what  pains  he  took  to  qualify  himself 
for  a  due  discharge  of  his  duties.  Not  only  did  he  carefully 
read  and  note  up  the  latest  decisions,  but  he  kept  his  mental 
vigour  unimpaired  by  the  aid  of  those  intellectual  exercises 
which  were  alike  the  labour  and  the  charm  of  his  academical 
career.  His  familiarity  with  accounts  was  extraordinary,  and 
the  unravelling  of  mathematical  problems. and  arithmetical 
puzzles  was  a  great  delight  to  him.  On  one  occasion  he  took 
much  pains  to  arrive  at  a  correct  solution — practical  as  well  as 
theoretical — of  the  breaking  strain  on  the  chain  of  a  crane  used 
in  loading  t  imber,  the  question  having  cropped  up  in  a  case  which 
came  before  him  judicially  at  Chepstow.  Another  time  he 
made  experiments  to  ascertain  how  much  water  an  ordinary 
brick  would  absorb ;  a  case  having  arisen  in  which  it  became 
necessary,  for  the  purposes  of  his  judgment,  that  the  fact  should  be 
correctly  ascertained.  For  rightly  grasping  the  contentions 
arising  in  another  case,  he  spent  a  long  time  with  a  builder,  in 
order  that  he  might  become  thoroughly  acquainted  with  a 
certain  mode  of  measuring  timber  with  which  he  was  not 
familiar.  In  cases  of  collision,  if  the  occasion  required  it,  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  visit  the  loctia  in  quoy  or  to  examine  the 
damaged  vehicle;  in  short,  he  spared  no  trouble  in  order 
to  satisfy  himself  as  to  the  right  conclusion  for  him  to 
arrive  at. 

It  was  not,  however,  his  lot  to  satisfy  everyone ;  and  on  its 
being  explained  to  him,  in  answer  to  his  own  enquiry,  that  the 
reason  why  a  gentleman,  whom  he  occasionally  met,  treated  him 
with  coolness,  was  that  he  had  given  a  judgment  against  him, 
he  quietly  remarked  :  "  Well,  I  can  make  every  allowance  for 
him  ;  for  I  well  know  how  irritating  it  is  for  an  individual  to 
have  a  judicial  decision  recorded  against  him,  when  he  con- 
scientiously believes  himself  to  be  in  the  right." 

Excellent  as  was  Mr.  Herbert  in  the  general  discharge  of  his 
functions,  he  was  not  without  his  faults  ;  and,  while  we  cannot 
honestly  pass  them  by  unoticed,  we  may  justly  and  charitably 
attribute  not  a  few  of  them  to  the  infirmity  of  human  nature. 
Perfection  never  was  possessed  by  mortal  man,  and  it  was  never 
claimed  even  for  a  Holt  or  a  Mansfield.  It  was  a  fault  of  the 
late  Judge  that  he  not  unfrequently  evinced  an  irritability 
unbecoming  the  judCTient  seat  and  not  justified  by  the 
circiuiurtiances.  DoubUess,  on  many  occasions,  he  was  betrayed 
into  an  expression  of  undue  warmth  by  the  crass  aadsh^i^^ 
Ignorance  of  a  witness,  the  unnecessary  prolongation  oi  a  cqai^^ 


8  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

and  the  corresponding  waste  of  public  time,  by  an  advocate. 
But  there  were  occasions  on  which  such  excuses  were  not 
present,  and  when,  perhaps,  fatigue  or  indisposition  might  be 
urged  in  extenuation  of  the  fault.  It  is  only  just  to  add  that, 
on  reflection,  a  hasty  or  unkind  utterance  fallen  from  him 
always  gave  him  pain,  and  prompted  him,  not  unfrequently,  to 
express  regret. 

Another  fault  he  possessed  was  this — he  sometimes  became 
so  impressed  with  a  case  before  it  was  half  heard,  that,  forgetful 
of  the  plain  duty  of  a  judge  to  suspend  his  judgment  until  he 
has  heard  both  sides,  he  occasionally  expressed  an  opinion 
which  the  facts,  when  fully  developed,  did  not  justify.  This 
very  failing,  however,  brought  into  prominent  relief  one  of  the 
finest  elements  in  his  character.  There  are  some  persons,  to 
whom  it  is  allotted  to  administer  judicial  functions,  who  think 
it  derogatory  to  recall  an  opinion  once  ex])ressed,  no  matter 
how  erroneous  it  may  subsequently  be  proved  to  be.  They 
prefer  to  act  like  the  sailor,  who,  having  inadvertently  used  the 
word  "  feet "  instead  of  "  hands,"  in  describing  the  height  of  a 
horse,  was  shari)ly  reminded,  on  cross-examination,  that  he  had 
sworn  that  a  horse  was  sixteen  feet  high;  upon  which  he 
exclaimed,  *'  Well,  if  I  have  sworn  it,  I  will  stick  to  it."  IVIr. 
Herbert  was  not  guilty  either  of  the  ignorance  or  the  moral 
cowardice  involved  in  the  course  of  which  the  above  is  a  not 
inapt  illustration.  Not  only  did  he  not  allow  his  ultimate 
judgment  to  be  warped  by  any  hasty  expression  of  opinion  to 
which  he  may  have  given  utterance,  but,  with  rare  courage,  he 
openly  called  attention  to  his  error  and  corrected  it.  It  was 
not,  therefore,  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  practitioners  before 
him  were  never  frightened  at  any  adverse  opinion  unduly 
dropped  by  him  while  a  case  was  in  progress ;  for  they  felt 
an  intuitive  assurance,  founded  on  long  experience,  that  he 
would  certainly  come  right  in  the  end. 

To  say  that  he  was  eminently  a  righteous  judge  would  not 
be,  nor  ought  it  in  the  case  of  any  judge  to  be,  the  language  of 
l>anegyric ;  but  in  his  case,  at  least,  it  is  only  a  simple  assertion 
of  the  truth.  Fraud  and  chicanery  he  held  in  utter  abhorrence, 
and  their  detection  invariably  moved  him  to  passionate  con- 
demnation. The  usiuious  transactions  of  money  lenders, 
''robbing  widows'  houses,"  and  driving  to  destitution  "the 
fatherless,"  exerted  his  just  resentment.  Men  of  this  class  he 
set  his  mark  on,  and  it  occasioned  him  instinctive  pain  when 
they  appeared  before  him.  He  had  a  large  and  compassionate 
heart,  and  while  he  sternly  rebuked  that  dishonesty  which  is 
implied  in  obtaining  undue  credit,  he  was  adverse  to  harsh 
orders  on  unfortunate  debtors,  and  always  endeavoured  to 
rejDress  such  measiu*es  as  would  reduce  them  to  penury  or 
ff^speration.    Nothing  more   insulted  his  sense  of  propriety 


JUDGE   HERBERT.  9 

than  to  hear  a  man  sneered  at  on  the  ground  of  his  calling  or 
of  his  religion.  To  a  litigant  who  reminded  his  Honor 
that  a  witness  was  only  a  Jew,  he  retorted,  in  terms  of  just 
indignation  :  "The  circumstance  of  a  man  being  a  Jew  does 
not  disentitle  him  to  credence.  He  is  just  as  good  as  a 
Christian,  and  better  than  many.  My  sympathies  are  with  a 
man  thus  assailed  an<l  held  up  to  odium.  I  will  never  allow 
any  man  to  be  held  up  to  obloquy  in  my  court,  either  on 
account  of  his  trade  or  of  his  religion."  These  are  magnanimous 
words,  and  the  inspiration  of  that  mens  divinior  which  was 
more  than  a  set  off  against  an  occasional  failing. 

He  earnestly  endeavoured  to  do  what  was  right,  and  it  was 
his  unceasing  aim  and  object  to  administer  justice.  As  he 
administered  it,  justice  was  assuredly  not  unworthy  of  the 
description  conveyed  in  the  beautiful  language  of  Sheridan  : — 
^'  August  and  pure  ;  .  .  .  majestic  from  its  mercy  ;  vener- 
able from  its  utility;  uplifted,  without  pride;  firm,  without 
obduracy ;  beneficent  in  each  preferment ;  lovely  though  in  her 
frown." 

Judge  Herbert  possessed  a  k<*en  sense  of  the  jocose,  and  the 
proceedings  of  the  Court  were  often  enlivened  with  his  own  wit, 
and  that  which  he  evoked  in  others.  When  his  judicial  vest- 
ments miscarried  by  the  railway,  he  pleasantly  excused  his  un- 
Judge-like  appearance  by  an  adaptatiim  of  the  lines  of  Cowper, 
in  the  ever  entertaining  story  of  John  Gilpin: — 

My  ffoicnoxid  wig  will  B»K)n  l)e  here, 
They  are  ii|>on  the  road, 

One  day,  whilst  hearing  a  case  in  which  a  dividend  had  been 
jiaid,  and  in  v  hich  the  creditor  averred  that  he  had  received  no 
notice  of  it,  Mr.  C  — ,  a  very  humorous  gentleman,  with  whom 
the  Judge  was  on  friendly  terms,  and  who  happened  to  be  the 
trustee  of  the  defendant's  estate,  entered  the  Court,  and  was 
asked  by  his  Honour  if  the  jJaintiff  had  received  notice — 
a  question  which  was  promptly  answered  in  the  affirmative. 
This  elicited  a  denial,  more  impressive  than  polite,  from  the 
creditor;  and,  on  the  Judge  again  referring  the  matter  to  Mr. 
C — ,  the  latter  replied:  "Why,  sir,  he  liad  notice^  for  it  was 
advertised  in  the  "  Ix)udon  Gazette,  which^  of  course^  he  rtitcat 
Juive  read,"  Every  one  i)resent,  with  the  exception  of  the 
creditor,  who  did  not  **  see  it,"  joined  in  hearty  laughter ;  but 
jierhaps  the  greatest  offender  was  the  Judge.  On  a  subsequent 
occasion,  the  facetious  gentleman  just  alluded  to  api)eared  as  a 
plaintiff  before  his  Honour,  and,  as  the  matter  was  one  which  was 
well  calculated  to  develop  fun,  the  Judge  willingly  accepted 
the  opportunity  which  the  occasion  suggested.  The  wit  and 
repartee  which  jmssed  between  the  Judge  and  the  witness  were 
I)ix)dactive  of  the  utmost  good  humour ;  and  when  the  ^ti\.e«A 
concliided  hy  saying,  ^^ I  humbly  venture  to  submit,  &c,,b\A,yM 


10  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

your  Honour  is  against  me,  I  shall  respectfully  bow  my  head 
before  a  torrent  which  I  cannot  stem,"  the  Judge  instantly 
replied  :  "  Well,  Mr.  C — ,  this  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I 
ever  was  called  a  torrent !" 

With  the  solicitors  who  practised  before  him,  particularly  in 
Cardiff,  of  which  Court  we  are  best  qualified  to  s|)eak,  the  late 
Judge  was  on  the  most  cordial  terms.  Tliey  ymd  him  in  Court 
the  respect  which  was  due  to  his  judicial  office,  and  in  private  he 
associated  with  them  on  a  footing  of  unrestrained  intimacy. 
The  respect  and  regard  which  they  entertained  for  him  are  aptly 
expressed  in  an  address  presented  to  him  ter.  years  ago,  on  the 
occasion  of  his  jubilee  as  a  Judge  of  County  Courts. 

The  late  Judge  by  no  means  confined  his  services  to  the 
County  Courts  over  which  he  presided.  He  was  an  active 
magistrate  of  the  counties  of  Hereford  and  Monmouth.  In  the 
former  county  he  for  many  years  acted  as  the  Deputy-Chairman 
of  the  Quarter  Sessions,  and  we  believe  that  on  the  last  t^o 
occasions  of  the  chair  becoming  vacant,  he  declined  to  accede  to 
solicitations  which  were  made  to  him,  that  he  should  fill  it.  He 
was  generally  on  the  Grand  Jury  at  the  Monmouth  Assizes,  and, 
despite  the  meaningless  and  antiquated  oath  administered  to  all 
Grand  Jurors,  but  obsened  by  none,  as  to  "keeping  their 
fellows'  coimsel  and  their  own,"  we  have  reason  to  know  that  Ije 
always  acted  as  the  real  foreman,  and  that  he  was,  as  from  liis 
training  might  be  expected,  of  invaluable  assistance  to  his 
colleagues  in  conducting  the  examination  of  the  witnesses  who 
came  before  them. 

Mr.  Herbert  took  great  interest  in  all  educational  questions. 
He  was  manager  of  the  National  Scliools  in  his  own  parisli — 
Goodrich — and  a  member  of  the  Diocesan  Board  of  Education  ; 
he  was  also  one  of  the  governors  of  the  Monmouth  Grammar 
School  and  a  promoter  of  the  county  college  which  has  recently 
been  established  at  Hereford.  He  participated  in  everytliing 
relating  to  the  well-being  of  his  own  neighbourhood  ;  and,  prior 
to  the  establishment  of  the  Post  OflBce  Savings  Banks,  he 
established  a  saWngs  bank  at  Goodrich,  and  paid  the  interest 
himself. 

His  knowledge  of  agriculture  and  agricultural  customs  was 
very  extensive,  and  was  derived  from  practice  as  well  as  from 
theory.  At  Eocklands,  his  beautiful  and  sequestered  residence 
on  the  Wye,  he  for  many  years  farmed  somewhat  extensively.  For 
the  last  thirty-one  years  he  was  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Agricultural 
Society,  whose  reports — particularly  such  as  were  likely  to  have 
any  bearing  on  cases  which  might  come  before  him — he  always 
read  with  great  attention.  Last  spring  he  forwarded  an  article 
on  the  treatment  of  the  foot  anc'  mouth  disease  by  means  of 
"  salicylic  acid,  admininistered  externally  and  interaally,"  to  a 
dinner  near  Ross  whose  cattle  were  affected,  and  who  found  the 
remedy  prescribed  an  eminently  effective  one. 


JUDGE   HERBERT.  11 

In  early  life  the  late  Judge  was  fond  of  field  sports,  and  used 
greatly  to  enjoy  a  day's  shooting.  He  was  a  good  shot ;  but 
having,  when  young,  injured  one  of  his  ankles,  he  was  never  able 
to  walk  very  vigorously.  His  favourite  pastime  was  fishing;  an 
occuiMition  which  not  only  enables  one  to  inhale  the  fresh  air, 
and  so  to  recruit  energies  tired  with  sedentary  employment,  but 
one  which  also  gratifies  the  eye  by  views  of  attractive  scenery,  and 
more  than  any  other  amusement  fosters  and  promotes  the  reflec- 
tive faculties  Mr.  Herbert  was  an  expert  and  successful  follower 
of  the  angle,  but  he  never  used  any  other  bait  than  the  artificial 
fly.  He  failed  to  appreciate  the  humane  advice  of  Isaac 
Walton,  to  impale  a  frog  tenderly  on  your  hook,  "as  though  you 
loved  him." 

In  his  college  days  Mr.  Herbert  was  greatly  devoted  to 
aquatic  pursuits,  and  was  a  member  of  the  "  Lady  Margaret '^ 
Boat  Club,  as  the  St.  John's  College  Club  was  then  and  is  still 
called.  For  about  two  years  he  steered  the  first  boat  of  the 
club  at  the  "  head  of  the  river  "  without  being  bumped.  The 
crew,  which  of  course  varied  during  the  time,  included,  amongst 
others,  the  following  eminent  men :  Gr.  A.  Selwyn,  successively 
Bishop  of  New  Zealand  and  of  Lichfield ;  W.  Tyrrell,  Bishop  of 
Newcastle,  New  South  Wales ;  W.  Selwyn,  Canon  of  Ely ;  C. 
Merivale,  the  gifted  and  erudite  author  of  "  The  Romans  under 
the  Empire  ;"  W.  Beadon,  the  London  police  magistrate ;  and  E, 
Sbarpe,  the  writer  of  "  Parallels  of  Architecture."  It  is  an 
interesting  fact  that  Mr.  Herbert  was  requested  to  steer  the 
Cambridge  boat  in  the  first  race  rowed  between  the  L^niversities 
of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  an  office  which  he  prudently  declined, 
because  he  thought  it  undesirable  to  reduce  himself  to  the 
required  weight. 

The  late  Judge  was  eminently  social  in  his  habits.  No  one 
more  enjoyed  meeting  his  friends  at  the  festive  board,  or  with 
more  discrimination  appreciated  those  good  gifts  of  Providence 
which  some  ascetics  think  mankind  would  do  better  without.  He 
was  throughout  life  an  exceedingly  moderate  and  abstemious  man ; 
and  it  will  be  gratifying  to  some  readers  to  know  that  at  one 
not  remote  period  of  has  life  he  was  for  several  years  a  total 
abstainer.  In  society,  whether  mixing  with  young  or  old,  he 
was  always  one  of  the  leading  spirits,  ever  full  of  fun  and  joke 
possessing  a  youthful  freshness  of  mind,  and  a  rare  ca^iacity  for 
enjoying  the  passing  hour ;  to  which  qualities  he  added  an 
urbanity  of  manner  that  could  not  fiedl  to  make  him  a  most 
delightful  companion.  His  stores  of  information  were  large  and 
well  arranged.  No  matter  what  subject  formed  the  staple  of 
conversation,  he  seemed  equally  at  home  in  it.  His  power  of 
assimilating  whatever  he  read,  on  all  subjects — scientific,  profes- 
siaiial,  historical,  or  social — was  very  remarkable ;  and  informatiou 
on  eveiy  point  aiwaja  seemed  to  come  to  hand  spoutaiLeox^i^^f 


OF    HIGH     DEGREE. 


By  Charles  Gibbon,  Author  of  "  Eobin  Gray/'  "  A  Heart's 
Problem,"  "In  Honour  Bound,''  '*  Queen  of  the  Meadow," 

"The  Braes  of  Yarrow,"  &c.,  &c. 


CHAPTER  XLIV.— Tragedy  in  the  Drawing  Eoom. 

Scene  I. 

The  drawing-room  is  the  place  for  afternoon  tea,  for  after- 
dinner  tattle,  and  music  that  is  rarely  listened  to,  however  good. 
It  is  not  the  place  for  scenes  of  passion  or  earnest  feeling  of  any 
kind^  But  one — no,  two,  were  as  safe  from  interruption  in  the 
drawing-room  of  Kemerton  during  the  fore  part  of  three  hundred 
days  out  of  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  as  if  they  were  in  the 
wilds  of  Timbuctoo. 

Ruth  and  Stephen  were  there  now.  The  housemaid  who — 
sometimes — came  to  dust  the  places  which  would  be  most  likely 
to  proclaim  her  negligence,  had  been  in  the  room  and  gone. 

Ruth  knew  that  there  was  not  the  slightest  chance  of  inter- 
ruption then ;  and  so,  when  she  had  received  Stephen's  appeal 
that  she  should  see  him  for  half-an-hour  before  he  went  to  his 
cousin — see  him  alone,  and  where  he  could  speak  freely — she 
appointed  the  wilds  of  the  drawing-room  for  their  rendezvous. 

She  was  looking  distressed,  and  even  alarmed :  the  necessity 
for  another  interview  she  had  felt ;  but  this  one  had  come  upon 
her  so  suddenly,  and  in  such  an  unexpected  manner,  that  she 
was  filled  with  vague  fears  of  still  more  vague  consequences. 

But  he  had  said : 

"  You  must  see  me,  if  you  value  my  happiness,  or  that  of  any- 
body connected  with  us." 

And  so  she  had  come. 

His  appearance  was  not  reassuring ;  hair  uncombed ;  face 
unwashed;  collar  and  shirt  crumpled  and  dirty;  clothes  looking 


OF  HIGH  DEGEEE.  15 

as  if  they  had  not  been  brushed  for  days,  and  a  wild  expression 
in  his  eyes  which,  taken  altogether,  would  have  made  her  fancy 
that  the  man  had  been  out  all  night  dissipating,  had  she  not 
known  him  well. 

They  had  both  reached  the  door  of  the  roem  at  the  same  time, 
and,  he  taking  her  hand,  they  entered  it  together.  Inside  he 
dropped  her  hand,  closed  the  door,  and  looked  at  her  as  one  who 
is  gazing  for  the  last  time  on  the  face  he  loves. 

"  I  see  you  are  disturbed,"  he  said,  bitterly.  "  Did  you  never 
practice  how  you  should  receive  me  when  I  came  to  tell  you 
that  I  had  learned  how  heartless  you  had  been  in  your  doubt  of 
me  ?  Did  you  never  think  how  you  should  answer  me  when  I 
stood  before  you  as  I  do  now,  the  wreck  of  what  might  have 
been  a  useful  life,  and  said,  *  This  is  your  work.  Are  you  proud 
of  it  ?' " 

The  subdued  passion  of  the  man  was  more  terrible  than  the 
wildest  outburst  of  reproach  would  have  been. 

She  was  pallid ;  she  was  trembling.  There  was  no  need  for 
any  explanation ;  she  comprehended  the  whole  position.  Then 
she  could  only  stretch  out  her  hands,  crying  : 

*'  1  know  that  I  have  done  wrong,  Stephen,  forgive  me.  .  .  . 
I  feared  it  ^11  along.  But  how  could  I  tell — how  could  I 
foresee  the  accidents  which  have  altered  everything  as  it 
appeared  to  me  ?" 

"  Had  you  loved  me,  there  would  have  been  no  need  to  risk 
the  occurrence  of  anything  that  might  separate  us  ?" 

"  Had  I  loved  you !"  she  repeated,  in  a  low,  wistful  voice  ;  had 
I  loved  you !     .   .     Oh,  Stephen,  can  you  question  that  ?" 

"  No,"  he  retorted,  harshly,  "  I  do  not  question  it — I  know  it. 
You  never  loved  me,  or  you  could  not  have  tried  me  so." 

There  she  was  about  to  cry  in  anguish :  "  You  wrong  me,  and 
it  is  you  who  do  not  know  what  love  will  do — you  who  do  not 
know  how  it  can  surrender  self,  and  be  content  to  suffer  any 
j)ain  so  that  it  may  give  happiness  to  its  idol."  But  she  stifled 
the  words,  and,  seeing  that  here  was  a  new  demand  to  conquer 
self,  she  answered,  sadly : 

**  Perhaps  it  was  so,  Stephen.  Think  it  was,  if  that  will  help 
to  make  you  forget  me." 

**  Oh,  what  infernal  nonsense  you  talk !"  he  exclaimed 
passionately,  and  clasping  her  in  his  arms  so  wildly  that  she 
had  no  power  to  resist.  "  As  if  I  could  forget ;  as  if  I  would 
not  gladly  do  it  if  I  could.  .  •  .  You  can  preach  to  me, 
because  you  do  not  feeL" 

«  Ah !" 

The  cry  was  so  strangely  low,  and  yet  pierced  his  ears  so 
sharply,  that  it  seemed  like  the  last  sob  of  a  dying  heart. 

He  kiflsed  her  cold  brow  with  his  hot  lips ;  then  released  her^ 
and  stepped  back; 


16  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

"  I  know  the  folly  of  it  all,"  lie  said  chokingly,  and  struggling 
fiercely  to  master  lus  despair.     "  I  know  my  weakness.      .    . 
You  have  proved  your  strength." 

"  Do  not  try  it  any  more,"  Stephen,"  she  almost  moaned ;  "  it 
is  already  strained  too  far." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  strain  it  further.  I  did  not  come  to 
reproach  you.  May  be,  I  shall  be  able  some  day  to  appreciate 
the  sacrifice  which  you  believe  you  made  for  me.  ...  I  can't 
appreciate  it  now.  Forgive  me  for  that.  I  do  not  blame  you — 
I  blame  only  that  man  who  has  been  the  curse  of  all  our  lives. 
....  Through  him  I  come  to  demand  from  you  the  proof 
that  what  you  did  was  because  you  cared  for  me,  and  not  because 
you  feared  my  ^wverty." 

"  Demand  anything  you  will  to  satisfy  you  of  that,  and  I  shall 
do  it,"  she  answered,  lifting  up  her  head  again,  cheeks  glowing, 
and  eyes  brightening  with  eager  hope. 

As  he  looked  at  her  in  this  moment  of  exaltation — so  beautiful, 
so  brave,  so  true — his  sense  of  l«)ss  again  took  strong  possession 
of  him,  and  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands  in  the  vain  effort 
to  shut  out  the  vision  which  made  him  think  life  impossible 
without  her. 

He  mastered  himself ;  but  his  rage  against  the  man  who  had 
robbed  him  of  his  treasure  was  the  more  intense. 

With  a  sudden  calmness,  which  startled  her  and  made  her 
tremble  as  with  cold,  he  spoke  : 

*'  You  said  that  this  must  be  our  last  meeting.  I  know  it 
mast.  ...  I  have  read  all  that  you  have  written,  and  under- 
stand the  happiness  we  have  both  lost.  .  .  .  Enough  of  that, 
Euth.  Here  we  are  to  say  good-bye  for  ever.  But  one  pledge 
you  must  give  me  before  we  part." 

«  Name  it." 

"  That  you  will  also  part  from  the  fiend  who  has  wrought  our 
ruin — that  you  will  never  see,  speak  to,  or  liold  any  communi- 
tion,  except  that  of  hate,  with  my  cousin  Dot t ridge  ?" 

She  hesitated. 
He  was  my  fathers  friend — he  has  been  mine." 
He  has  been  a  curse  to  everyone  who  trusted  him,  and  most 
of  all  to  us.    He  betrayed  a  noble  woman,  and  left  her  to  shame. 
He  undertook  the  care  of  her  child  to  save  himself  from  exposure 
and  the  ruin  which  disgrace  brings  even  to  such  men  as  he." 

"  Who  told  you  this  ?"  she  inquired,  knowing  that  he  siK)ke  of 
Dahlia's  mother. 

"Eapier,  who  knew  it  all — who  was  with  him  through  it  all. 
.  .  .  Oh,  you  need  not  warn  me  against  Rapier.  I  do  not 
trust  him.     I  have  the  proofs  of  what  I  say  here  in  my  pocket." 

He  spoke  triumphantly  ;  a  savage  joy  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  are  they  ?"  (She  doubted  everything  that  Rapier 
222eddJed  with). 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  17 

**  I^etters  of  Dottridge  and  Dahlia's  mother,  telling  the  whole 
miserable  story  of  her  late  and  his  falsehood." 

"  Have  you  read  them  ?" 

"  Xo—  I  shall  do  that  in  his  presence,  when  I  see  him  by-and- 
bye.     I  shall  make  this  man  pay  the  penalty  of  his  crimes." 

Ruth  saw  a  greater  danger  to  Stephen  than  she  had  yet  sus- 
pected— the  danger  of  his  meeting  Dottridge  while  the  present 
frenzy  was  upon  him. 

"  What  would  vou  have  him  do  ?" 

**  Make  him  give  up  all  thought  of  you.  That  is  my  revenge 
— to  disappoint  the  wretched  idiot  of  the  prize  which  he  has 
schemed  so  cruelly  to  win.  .  .  .  Now  give  me  the  pledge  of 
your  truth — give  me  the  proof  that  all  you  have  said,  all  you 
have  written,  was  true.  Promise  that  you  will  never  be  that 
man's  wife." 

"  Will  that  satisfy  you  ?"  she  said,  very  slowly. 

"  Nothing  else  can." 
"Then  you  have  my  promise — on  one  condition — " 

"  No  condition,  Ruth  ;  there  must  be  none.  We  are  not  to 
meet  again.  I  cannot  part  from  you  with  any  doubt  on  this 
subject.     I  hold  your  pledge  ;  and  now  good-bye." 

He  did  not  attem])t  to  embrace  her  again  ;  they  simply  clasped 
hands,  looking  earnestly  into  each  other's  faces,  and  as  she  bowed 
her  head  he  kissed  her  once  more. 

Tlien  he  went  awav. 

She  stood  for  a  little  dazed  by  the  wild  scene  through  which 
she  had  passed,  and  scarcely  realising  the  nature  of  the  pledge 
she  had  given,  or  the  fact  that  she  had  said  her  last  good-bye  to 
Stephen. 

She  was  startled  from  her  sad  reverie  by  a  cold,  hard  voice. 

**  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  Ruth,"  said  Dahlia,  suddenly  gliding 
in  from  the  terrace  by  one  of  the  French  windows. 


CHAPTER  XLV.— Tragedy  in  the  Drawing-room. 

Scene  II. 

The  first  impulse  of  Ruth  was  to  take  the  young  wife  in  her 
arms,  to  seek  and  to  give  sympathy,  for  she  was  innocent  of  any 
thought  that  might  be  the  cause  of  unhappiness  to  her. 

But  Dahlia  believed  her  to  be  full  of  guilty  thoughts  and 
designs,  and  so  she  looked  at  her  with  that  cold,  repellent 
expression  with  which  one  regards  a  foe  from  whom  no  pity  is 
expected,  and  to  whom  no  mercy  is  to  be  shown.  Then  there 
was  that  anxious,  glistening  stare  in  Dahlia's  eyes  which  would 
have  made  anyone  feel  rmcomfortahle. 

B 


18  OF  HIGH  DEGEEE. 

It  made  Buth  suspect  that  she  was  unwell,  and  after  the  first 
moment  of  hesitation  she  advanced  towards  her. 

"  My  dear  Dahlia,"  she  said,  taking  her  hand  and  embracing 
her,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  but  I  wish  I  could  have  seen  you 
looking  better." 

'  Dahlia  submitted  to  the  embrace,  but  made  no  response  to  it. 
As  soon  as  she  had  disengaged  herself,  she  said,  as  she 
re-arranged  her  collar  and  cufifs, 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  glad  you  are  glad  to  see  me.  That  was 
my  husband  who  left  you  just  now." 

"  Yes." 

Euth  pronounced  the  word  slowly,  and  Dahlia  misinterpreted 
the  slowness  to  mean  hesitation  to  confess  that  it  was  Stephen 
who  had  been  there.  It  only  meant  that  Kuth  was  perplexed 
and  grieved  by  Dahlia's  strange  manner. 

"  I  must  apologise  for  interrupting  you,"  Dahlia  went  on,  with 
evidently  forced  calmness,  "  and  especially  for  coming  in  upon 
you  through  the  window.  Quite  amusing,  is  it  not  ?  But  I 
really  did  not  mean  to  disturb  you.  I  was  walking  on  the 
terrace  with  Mr.  Kapier,  and,  happening  to  see  you  here,  came 
in  at  once  by  the  way  you  know  I  used  to  be  fond  of.  I  had  no 
idea  that  my  appearance  would  frighten  him  away." 

There  was  that  kind  of  irritating,  sneering  titter  in  the  voice 
which  only  a  woman  can  express  when  she  is  openly  pretending 
to  be  civil  to  one  with  whom  she  is  in  a  bitter  rage. 

Euth  was  silent.  The  fact  was  slowly  dawning  upon  her  that 
she  was  face  to  face  with  a  jealous  wife,  who  would  not  easily  be 
persuaded  to  understand  the  real  position  of  Stephen  and  herself. 
She  answered  quietly : 

"  You  did  not  disturb  us.  Dahlia.  We  were  saying  good-bye. 
I  did  not  see  you  until  you  spoke,  and  I  am  sure  he  did  not ;  or 
he  would  have  stayed. 

Dahlia  had  drawn  off  her  right  hand  glove,  and  was  patting — 
or  whipping — the  left  with  it,  playfully. 

"  Y^our  conversation  must  have  been  very  interesting,  to  render 
you  both  deaf  and  blind.  But,  of  course,  it  is  usual  for  old 
friends — especially  when  they  happen  to  be  a  man  and  woman — 
to  have  coiSdences  to  exchange  which  might  not  be  agreeable 
to  the  ears  of  the  woman's  husband  or  the  man's  wife.  I  under- 
stand that;  but  it  was  a  pity  that  you  could  not  make  an 
exception  to  the  rule  in  my  case ;  or  it  was  a  pity  that  I  was 
so  foolish  as  to  think  you  might  do  so,  and,  by  my  ridiculous 
haste  to  show  my  trust  in  you  both,  spoil  your  pleasure  in 
meeting.     But  you  know  that  I  was  always  a  little  silly." 

All  this  was  spoken  with  an  air  and  tone  of  apologetic  i>olite- 
ness,  as  if  she  sincerely  regretted  having  been  the  cause  of 
inconvenience  to  her  friends;  but  it  was  followed  by  that 
horrible  titter  which  nervous  irritation  provokes    in    weak. 


OF  HIGH  DEGEEE.  19 

passionate  natures.    Dahlia  wished  to  suppress  all  signs  of  her 
spleen  and  hate,  but  betrayed  herself. 

Ruth  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  amazed  and  pained ;  but 
she  saw  the  blunder  Dahlia  was  making,  and  was  resolved  to  save 
her  from  it.  She  spoke  with  simple  earnestness,  but  with  a 
firmness  which  commanded  attention. 

"  You  do  not  understand.  Dahlia,  but  I  hope  you  will  try  to 
believe  me  when  I  explain.  You  were  aware  of  the  i>osition 
which  Sir.  Meredith  and  I  held  to  each  other  before  my 
departure  to  Australia.  I  know,  and  he  knows,  that  the  position 
is  entirely  changed  by  what  has  since  occurred.  I  desire  to  see 
him  happy,  and  that  includes  the  desire  to  see  you  happy.  You 
say  that  you  had  confidence  in  us  both,  and  I  believe  it,  or  you 
would  not  have  caused  us  so  much  pain  by  bringing  about  the 
unexpected  meeting  in  the  Holly  Bush  Ring  —you  owe  me  some 
ex]  Sanation  for  that." 

"  I  thought  I  was  doing  you  quite  a  friendly  turn,"  wsis 
Dahlia's  flippant  answer ;  "  and  apparently  it  proved  to  be 
one." 

**  On  the  contrary,  it  was  most  cruel  to  us.  We  were  unpre- 
pared, and  we  were  unable  to  act  with  the  calmness  which  was 
required  on  a  first  meeting,  considering  the  altered  positions  in 
which  we  stood  to  each  other." 

"Tlien  I  wished  to  see  how  you  would  remember  vie  when 
you  met ;  and,  as  I  expected,  you  forgot  me." 

"  You  are  wi'ong — we  did  remember  you.  If  we  could  have 
forgotten  you,  we  should  have  been  happy." 

That  was  true,  and  was  the  more  bitter  because  it  was  true. 
Ruth  could  not  help  saying  it,  although  she  sympathised  with 
Dahlia  and  wished  to  8]>are  her  jmin.  Whilst  the  words  were 
on  her  lips  she  was  sorry  for  uttering  them,  but  was  unable  to 
stop  in  time.  She  succeeded,  however,  in  supj>ressing  what 
might  have  followed — "  had  you  remembered  me  in  time,  there 
would  have  been  none  of  this  trouble." 

Dahlia  twisted  her  glove  between  her  hands. 

''  You  were  able  to  console  yourselves,  at  any  rate,  for  my 
absence.^ 

This  with  a  painful  affectation  of  gaiety. 

**  We  were  not  thinking  of  consolation  of  any  kind,"  answered 
Ruth,  gently ;  "  we  were  thinking  only  of  how  we  might  make 
the  best  of  our  position ;  and  we  believe  that  is  to  be  done  by 
never  meeting  again." 

**  So  you  have  taken  an  eternal  adieu.  Poor  Ruth — poor 
Stephen.*" 

When  one  is  making  an  earnest  effort  to  find  the  best  way 
oat  of  a  difficulty,  and  has  resolved  uiK>n  stifling  i)er8onaI 
feeling  fixr  the  benefit  of  another — ^that  other  may  most  easvlj 
proYose  one  to  a  feeling  of  irritation  by  affecting  to  regard  t^ 

b2 


20  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

sacrifice  as  of  trifling  consequence.  The  mocking  words  and 
tone  of  Dahlia  did  again  stir  the  spirit  of  resentment  in  Ruth, 
but  she  controlled  it. 

"  I  have  told  you  that  we  think  it  is  best  for  us  all  that  we 
should  not  meet  again,"  she  answered,  simply.     "  I  cannot  oflFer 
you  advice,  for  I  see  you  would  not  heed  it ;  but  I  must  implore 
you,  Dahlia,  not  to  make  the  unhappy  state  we  are  all  placed  in 
worse  by  any  foolish  act  on  your  ])art." 
"Oh, you  expect  me  to  act  foolishly?" 
"  I  fear  it,  because  I  feel  that  you  are  not  satisfied." 
"  Could  you  expect  me  to  be  satisfied  ?"  she  asked,  with  sudden 
fierceness. 

Ruth  was  relieved ;  any  humour  was  more  bearable  than  the 
alternate  flippancy  and  superciliousness  with  which  Dahlia  had 
been  speaking.  Genuine  passion  was,  under  the  circumstances, 
understandable  and  to  be  respected.  That  was  natural,  and 
Ruth  could  answer  it. 

"  I  was  WTong  to  say  satisfied.  Dahlia,"  she  replied  sadly;  "  for 
I  do  not  expect  any  of  us  can  be  satisfied  at  present.  But  we 
can  try  to  understand  each  other — that  is,  you  and  I  and 
Stephen — since  we  three,  at  any  rate,  have  only  one  object  in 


view." 


"  That  is  true,  if  the  one  thing  we  have  in  view  is  the  same," 
said  Dahlia,  with  that  cold,  glistening  stare  in  her  eyes. 

«  Can  you  doubt  it  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  sure  of  it  only  when  you  have  proved  that  you 
desire  to  see  us  happy." 

"Ah,  I  should  be  glad  to  do  that,  if  it  were  in  my 
power." 

"  It  is  in  your  power.  Show  him  that  you  can  live  without 
him,  as  he  found  that  he  could  live  without  you.  You  know 
how  it  may  be  done,  and  until  you  have  done  it  you  know  that 
your  existence  will  be  a  constant  accusation  against  me  that  I 
have  usurped  your  place ;  every  sign  of  neglect  on  his  part — 
whether  real  or  imagined  by  me — will  be  a  constant  proof  that 
he  regards  me  as  his  curse,  because  I  stand  between  him  and 
you." 

Dahlia  maintained  a  degree  of  outward  control,  and  the  fury 
of  this  cry  was  the  more  intense.  It  struck  the  deeper  into  the 
listener's  heart  because  the  interview  with  Stephen  rendered 
her  keenly  sensible  of  how  true  it  was,  and  of  how  little  service 
protestations  of  sympathy  could  be  so  long  as  she  occupied  her 
present  place  in  his  thoughts.     She  could  not  answer. 

"  Think  of  it,"  Dahlia  went  on  bitterly ;  "  one  of  us  two  must 
end  this  diflBculty  ;  say  which  of  us  it  must  be — ^you,  living  ; 
or  I,  dead  ?" 

Ruth  shuddered,  although  she  did  not  fully  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  the  words  "  or  I,  dead." 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  21 

"  I  will  end  it,  if  it  be  possible  by  any  sacrifice,"  she  said 
resolutely. 

"  I  will  know  to-night  whether  or  not  you  are  in  earnest,  and 
then  I  shall  also  know  my  course.  If  you  want  anyone  to  help 
vou,  there  he  is  I" 

ml  ' 

She  pointed  to  Bapier,  who  was  passing  the  window,  and 
then  she  quitted  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XL VI.— An  Interlude. 

Ruth  felt  feverish  in  her  bewildennent.  There  seemed  to 
be  fever  in  the  atmosphere;  distracting  questions,  each  claiming 
immediate  settlement,  were  hurrying  so  fast  one  after  the 
other. 

She  had  stood  quite  calm  in  the  midst  of  shipwreck,  facing 
peril  which  threatened  death  at  every  moment ;  she  had  kept 
her  head,  and  had  been  able  to  help  others  to  keep  their  heads. 
But  here,  in  this  mental  and  moral  shipwreck,  the  rudder 
seemed  to  have  been  lost,  and  she  was  being  beaten  about  by 
^o  many  cross  winds  that  she  could  only  abandon  herself  to 
their  whims,  and  in  her  dazed  state  submit  to  whatever  fate 
might  befall  her. 

That  was  her  present  ^wsition — one  of  utter  bewilderment 
and  incapacity  to  determine  what  was  better  for  her  to  do. 

Nature  had  not  endowed  her  with  woman's  safety  valve — 
hysterics.  She  was  simply  da/ed,  dumb,  still.  Alore  and 
mure  she  was  realising  the  full  force  of  Stephen's  words,  that 
the  true  shipwreck  of  their  lives  was  here,  on  the  land,  in  the 
place  where  they  had  grown  up  together  in  love—  the  place  they 
called  home. 

Home ! — where  was  her  home  to  be  now  ?  Would  she  ever 
know  one  ?  For  Stephen's  sake  she  must  abandon  Dott  ridge ; 
who,  whatever  selfish  blunder  he  had  committed,  had  proved 
himself  to  be  devoted  to  her.  It  was  his  devotion  to  her  which 
had  caused  the  blunder.  His  eagerness  to  win  her  had  provoked 
him  to  use  the  power  he  possessed  to  test  the  sincerity  of 
Stephen  by  a  very  small  trial — a  year's  separation.  And, 
notwithstanding  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  case,  she  did 
not  think  that  Stephen  had  come  out  of  it  quite  so  clean- 
handed as  he  ought  to  have  done.  He  might  have  waited^ 
and — 

There  she  stopped. 

*«  I  am  seeking  to  excuse  myself  by  casting  blame  upon  him. 
I  won%  do  that.^ 

And  then  she  went  to  the  window.    I2apier  was  not  in  6ig\vl« 


22  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

Bleak  and  cold  as  the  landscape  was  on  this  wintry  day,  there 
were  rich  clumps  of  evergreens  and  stretches  of  green  meadow- 
land  to  refresh  the  eye,  whilst  there  was  on  the  masses  of  trees 
that  faint,  misty  bloom  which  betokens  the  approach  of 
buds. 

She  had  thought  that  the  way  to  settle  the  matter  was  to  be 
found  in  consenting  to  become  the  wife  of  Humphrey  Dottridge. 
She  had  half  determined  to  accept  that  means  of  escaj^)e  from 
all  this  worry.  But  she  was  forbidden ;  and  being  forbidden, 
she  felt  quite  sure  that  it  would  have  been  the  simplest  and 
most  complete  solution  of  the  difficulty  which  was  distressing 
them  all. 

If  Stephen  had  not  compelled  her  to  promise  that  she  would 
not  marry  Dottridge,  how  easily  she  might  have  satisfied  Dahlia ! 
Or  if  it  would  be  enough  for  her  to  go  away  and  never  cross 
their  paths  again,  how  glad  she  would  have  been  to  do  it !  But, 
she  knew  that  going  was  of  no  avail ;  the  antii)odes  are  only  on 
the  other  side  of  the  world,  and  the  people  we  don't  want  to 
meet  always  turn  up  more  frequently  than  those  we  do  want  to 
meet. 

Besides,  her  task  was  to  make  him  content,  for  his  own  sake 
and  for  Dahlia's ;  and,  as  Dahlia  had  said  there  was  only  one 
method  of  accomplishing  that^-"  prove  that  she  could  forget 
him,  as  he  had  forgotten  her." 

But  there  was  one  other  way  of  settling  the  matter  which 
none  of  them  appeared  to  have  considered — she  might  disregard 
all  their  reproaches,  and  do  precisely  what  pleased  herself 
best. 

They  had  not  thought  of  that  contingency.  She  might  turn 
her  back  on  Kemerton  and  its  master :  she  might  be  indifferent 
to  Stephen  and  his  troubles,  and  go  on  her  own  way  rejoicing. 
Tliat  was  by  far  the  best  plan  which  had  been  discovered  yet 

Only   it  required  that   quality   she   did   not 

possess — indifference.  She  could  not  be  indifferent  to  Stephen ; 
she  could  not  get  rid  of  the  responsibility  she  felt  had  been 
incurred  by  her  departure  for  Australia,  and  by  her  submission 
to  the  terms  which  Dottridge  had  made  with  her. 

She  had  the  consciousness  that  there  was  something  of  a 
very  simple  nature  required  to  set  everybody  right:  that  was  a 
little  common  sense,  combined  with  a  little  forbearance  of  each 
other's  sins.  She  did  not  quite  see  how  it  was  to  be  found ;  but 
she  opened  the  window  and  went  out  to  seek  it  in  the  fresh  air. 
She  walked  quickly  along  the  terrace  to  the  comer  of  the 
house,  and  had  turned,  when  a  hand  touched  her  shoulder. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  interfere  with  your  exercise,"  said  Bapier 
softly,  in  her  ear,  "but,  seeing  you  on  the  terrace,  I  thought  it 
would  be  no  harm  to  remind  you  that  at  nine  to-night  I  expect 
jronr  answer.     I  shall  wait  for  you  in  the  drawing-room." 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  23 


U 


You  have  already  had  my  answer,"  she  replied,  without 
turning  her  head. 

He  was  walking  quietly  behind  her,  making  no  effort  to  take 
his  place  by  her  side. 

"  You  have  seen  them  both,"  he  continued,  "and  you  can  judge 
for  yourself  how  sadly  out  of  sorts  they  are.  On  reflection  I 
think  you  will  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say  to-night,  and  do 
whjit  you  alone  can  do  to  mend  matters.  I  will  exi)ect  you  at 
the  appointed  time." 

She  was  in  front  of  the  drawing-room  again,  and  was  glad  to 
go  in  to  escape  from  this  man.  He  made  no  attempt  to  follow  her, 
but  passed  on  leisurely,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  as  if  he 
were  reading  there  the  signs  of  his  fate,  which  this  night  was 
to  determine. 

Ruth  sat  down  on  the  couch,  her  hands  clasped  on  her  knees. 
She  was  trying  to  concentrate  her  thoughts,  which  were  at 
present  flying  from  one  subject  to  another,  so  that  she  could 
understand  nothing  clearly. 

She  succeeded  at  length  so  far  as  to  determine  that  it  was 
Rapier's  mischievous  designs  she  had  to  foil. 


CHAPTER    XJ.VIl.— Juggling. 

Tlie  face  of  the  man  was  as  keen  and  cold  as  an  east  wind. 
His  hand  had  been  unexj^ctedly  forced,  and  he  knew  that  he 
stood  on  the  turning  point  of  his  destiny.  It  was  neck  or  nothing 
with  him  now. 

But,  amongst  other  gifts  which  ought  to  have  made  him  a 
successful  man.  Rapier  owned  the  rare  faculty  of  being  able  to 
recognise  his  weak  points,  and  promptly  made  up  his  mind  to 
meet  the  consequences  boldly.  He  saw  clearly  that  he  ought 
to  have  looked  after  Stephen  earlier,  and  although  he  had 
conquered  him  in  the  meanwhile,  he  could  foresee  many  ways 
in  which  the  mere  loutish  honesty  of  the  master  of  Derewood 
might  defeat  the  best  laid  schemes  of  clever  Lewis  Rapier. 

Of  course  he  could  not  have  foreseen  the  possibility  of  Stephen 
bursting  in  upon  him  at  somewhere  about  three  o'clock  of  a 
winter  morning,  when  he  had  for  the  first  time  found  an  oppor- 
tunity of  using  the  duplicate  key  of  Dottridge*s  private  safe. 
He  had  only  possessed  himself  of  that  key,  after  long  watching 
and  waiting,  on  the  day  before  he  had  began  the  search  in 
which  he  had  been  interrupted.  But  he  might  have  had  more 
wit  than  to  leave  the  window  quite  unguarded  from  outside 
intraaiony  when  he  had  arranged  it  for  his  own  escape  m  i\k& 
event  of  any  intrusion  6rxm  the  inaide  of  the  house. 


24  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

That  was  clear  enough  now ;  it  was  likewise  clear  enough 
now  that  Stephen  was  a  person  to  be  taken  seriously  into  account 
in  the  general  arrangement  of  affairs,  if  he  was  to  succeed  in 
bringing  them  to  a  satisfactory  issue  for  himself. 

He  felt  quite  injured  by  this  man,  who  had  so  suddenly 
wakened  up  from  a  state  of  bucolic  inactivity  to  that  of  an 
energetic  being  with  will  and  purpose  of  his  own.  Both  will 
and  purpose  threatened  to  interfere  with  Rapier's  interests ; 
and  so  Rapier's  Confidant  had  at  once  suggested  that  he  should 
seize  them  and  use  them — as  a  clever  engineer  seizes  a  wayward 
and  dangerous  watercourse,  and  applies  its  force  to  the  further- 
ance of  his  own  designs. 

He  had  no  difficulty  in  discovering  how  he  might  direct 
Stephen's  energy  into  his  services :  that  was  by  playing  upon 
the  chord — hatred  of  Dottridge.  But  he  had  no  assurance  of 
what  tension  tbe  chord  would  bear.  Therefore  he  had  to  hasten 
forward  the  accomplishment  of  his  plans. 

He  cursed  him  with  all  his  heart  for  the  unexpected  bother 
he  was  causing;  but  he  did  not  waste  much  time  over  his 
anathemas — they  came  in  as  breaths  of  relief  in  the  midst  of 
his  hurried  reflections  and  actions. 

"It  is  a  business  of  juggling  with  four  balls,"  he  said  to  his 
Friend,  "  and  I  must  kee})  them  all  going  at  once — Meredith 
and  Dahlia — Dottridge  and  Ruth.  Well,  the  game  is  worth 
playing,  and,  seeing  that  I  must  play  it  to  the  end  now,  I  may 
as  well  pretend  that  I  enjoy  it." 

The  first  thing  he  had  to  do  was  to  prevent  Stephen  and 
Dottridge  meeting ;  the  second  was  to  arouse  Stephen  to  compel 
Ruth  to  refuse  Dottridge  ;  the  thiid  was  to  make  Dahlia  lurge 
upon  Ruth  the  necessity  of  doing  something  which  would  make 
Stephen  cease  to  regret  the  mistake  he  had  made ;  the  fourth 
was  to  convince  Ruth  and  Dottridge  that  the  only  way  to  restore 
happiness  to  the  Derewood  family  was  by  her  consenting  to 
become  his  wife. 

He  exi:)ected  to  fail  in  persuading  them  that  this  was  the  best 
and  quickest  solution  of  the  difficulty ;  and  he  was  preparing  to 
frighten  them  into  acceptance  of  his  solution. 

He  had  earned  the  first  three  points  with  comparative  ease, 
and  he  had  reason  to  be  gratified  with  his  success.  But  the  fourth 
remained  to  be  accomplished ;  and  Ruth,  on  her  part,  still 
appeared  to  be  as  much  opposed  to  it  as  ever. 

But  she  must  yield  when  Dottridge  found  that  she  could  not 
or  would  not  accept  him,  and  when  it  was  made  clear  that 
Dahlia's  happiness  or  Dahlia's  ruin  was  dependent  on  Ruth's 
action. 

He  had  done  admirably  thus  far — notwithstanding  that  dis- 
tmbing  element  of  Stephen,  which  had  taken  him  so  much  by 
surprise  that  he  had  not  had  time  to  calculate  all  its  possibilities. 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  25 

What  he  had  to  do  now  was  sufficiently  grave  to  make  him  for 
a  few  seconds  hesitate  and  question  whether  he  should  proceed. 

Then  his  face  assumed  that  bitterly  keen  east  wind  expression. 

'*  I  am  in  for  it  in  any  case.     I  will  go  on  to  the  end." 

His  thin  lips  were  closed  tightly  as  the  words  passed  through 
his  mind. 

He  had  confided  Dahlia  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Smith,  and  he 
had  Stephen  waiting  for  him  in  that  room,  where,  on  the  winter 
night,  a  year  ago,  after  the  conversation  on  the  pier  at  Southend, 
the  lover  had  waited  anxiously  for  the  explanation  which  had 
been  refused. 

Stephen  knew  the  room  well,  and  remembered  that  night — 
remembered  it  with  fierce  rage  at  himself,  that  he  had  been 
such  an  imbecile  as  not  to  have  penetrated  the  whole  diabolical 
scheme  to  rob  him  of  the  woman  he  loved  and  who  loved  him. 

He  was  impatient  to  see  Dottridge ;  but  he  had  given  his 
promise  to  Kapier  to  wait  there  until  he  told  liim  that  the 
moment  had  come  to  catch  the  arch  conspirator  in  his  utter 
humiliation,  when  he  had  learned  from  Ruth  that  all  his  treachery 
had  been  to  no  purpose,  as  she  would  never  consent  to  marry 
him.  This  Rapier  was  a  clever  devil,  and  he  would  make  it  all 
right. 

Stephen  gloated  over  the  discomfiture  of  this  man,  who  had 
thought  that  by  his  money — money ! — he  could  bend  heails 
and  lives  to  his  pleasure.     He  was  about  to  learn  a  bitter  lesson. 

"  I  hope  you  will  manage  to  keep  cool,  Meredith,"  said  Rapier, 
as  he  entered  and  found  Stephen  pacing  the  floor  with  quick, 
nervous  steps.  "  I  have  explained  to  you  that  if  we  are  to 
manage  to  bring  this  old  fox  to  his  knees  we  must  be  perfectly 
calm  and  deliberate  in  our  actions." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  calm  enough  when  I  am  with  him,"  answered 
Stephen  impetuously. 

"  It  does  not  matter  so  much  how  you  act  when  you  are  with 
him  as  beforehand.    Your  wife  is  here." 

"  I  know  it.  I  saw  the  carriage.  I  do  not  want  to  see  her 
at  present.'* 

*'I  would  have  suggested  that  you  had  better  not.  She  also 
is  a  little  excited.  I  have  told  Brassey  that  we  must  be  allowed 
to  lunch  to-day  at  any  time  we  may  find  convenient." 

"  Has  Ruth  seen  him  yet  ?"  was  Stephen's  hasty  inquiry, 
utterly  indifferent  to  Brassey  and  lunch. 

**  Not  yet;  and  I  should  say  she  is  not  likely  to  see  him  for 
some  hours  to  come — perhaps  not  even  to-day.  You  must  make 
some  allowance  for  a  woman's  nerves ;  and  after  all  Ruth  is  only 
a  womam" 

**  I  know,  I  know ;  but  why  does  she  put  it  off?" 

^  Did  yoa  make  her  promise  that  she  would  go  straight  to  \ma 
after  yoa  left  her  and  pronounced  sentence  upon  bim?  You  Ooii 


26  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

not  teU  me  that  when  you  informed  me  of  what  she  had  agreed 
to  do.     I  am  afraid  he  will  get  the  best  of  us  yet." 

"  He  shall  not,  said  Stephen,  clenching  his  teeth.  "  I  can 
wait  1' 

"  That's  right ;  and  if  you  would  only  be  sensible  you  would 
step  into  the  dining-room  and  have  some  lunch.'' 

Stephen  turned  away  with  a  feeling  of  nausea  at  the  mere 
mention  of  food. 

**  Very  well,  I  will  come  back  to  you  presently." 

Rapier  left  him,  satisfied  that  there  was  not  likely  to  be  any 
immediate  interruption  from  him.  He  proceeded  leisurely  to 
the  apartment  where  Dahlia  was  waiting  under  the  care  of  her 
friend,  the  housekeeper. 

Dahlia  was  talking  with  ]Mrs.  Smith  quite  calmly ;  but  she 
had  not  taken  that  worthy  friend  into  her  confidence  any  further 
than  by  the  general  explanation  that  there  were  some  family 
diflBculties  to  be  arranged  by  Mr.  Dottridge.  She  did,  however, 
say,  with  something  like  a  smile  of  malicious  triumph  : 

"  I  don't  think  you  will  have  Miss  Clarke  with  you  very  long. 
Isn't  it  a  pity,  when  she  has  become  such  an  interesting 
creature  ?" 

When  Rapier  appeared,  Mrs.  Smith  withdrew. 

"  Well,"  inquired  Dahlia  eagerly,  "  have  you  seen  her — have 
you  spoken  ?" 

"  I  have,  and  she  refuses — do  not  be  alarmed ;  that  answer 
is  not  final.  I  have  repeated  that  I  will  not  take  her  answer 
until  to-night." 

"  And  if  she  refuse,  then  ?" 

"  In  that  case  you  must  be  content  to  wait  for  their  flight,  or 
take  the  step  I  have  suggested  to  you.'' 

I  will  not  wait,"  said  Dahlia,  with  a  peculiar  little  laugh. 

(To  he  continued). 


«( 


THE  CROMWELL  FAMILY  AND  THEIR  CONNECTION 

WITH  WALES. 


PART    II. 

The  tragic  and  terrible  fall  of  Thomas  Cromwell,  Earl  of 
Essex,  does  not  seem  to  have  affected  the  fortunes  of  the 
Williams  family.  Morgan  Williams  continued  to  supply  the 
Court  with  beer,  and  his  son,  Richard  Cromwell,  invested  the 
profits  in  Church  properties  in  the  Fen  regions,  which  could 
then  be  bought  on  very  easy  terms.  He  became  i)Ossessed  of 
extensive  estetes  in  Huntingdon,  Cambridge,  and  other  shires 
in  England,  and,  amongst  others,  of  one  at  Neath  Abbey,  in 
Glamorgan,  said  to  have  been  the  richest  abbey  in  Wales,  it 
being  traditional  that  the  Welsh  phrase,  vior  gjffoethog  aV 
Mynachlog  (as  rich  as  the  monastery)  referred  to  the  Abbey  of 
Neath.  According  to  Dugdale  the  value  of  the  Abbey  lands 
was  £'132  7s.  7d.  by  the  year  -  no  great  sum  in  these  days,  but  a 
large  one  at  that  time. 

Sir  Richard  Cromwell  sat  in  the  Parliaments  of  Edward  VI., 
and  the  early  Parliaments  of  Elizabeth,  for  the  county  of 
Huntingdon,  where  his  principal  seat  was  at  Hinchingbrook, 
near  Huntingdon  town.  He  had  another  seat  at  Ramsey,  on 
the  edge  of  the  mere,  and  a  house  in  the  town  of  Cambridge, 
He  was  blessed  with  a  large  family,  whom  he  settled  on  sundry 
estates,  and  whose  descendants  fought,  chiefly,  on  the  side  of 
the  King,  in  the  Civil  War. 

At  the  death  of  Sir  Richard,  his  eldest  son,  Henry,  succeeded 
him  at  Hinchingbrook  ;  and,  judging  by  the  sumptuous  manner 
in  which  he  lived,  he  must  have  been  left  a  very  rich  man. 
He  sneceeded  his  fstther  as  member  for  Huntingdonshire,  that 
seat  having  become  a  sort  of  appanage  of  the  Cromwells. 
For  Bome  special  service  rendered  to  Elizabeth  he  was  knighted 
by  her — an  honour  by  no  means  frequently  dispensed  by  that 
self-willed,  yet  jucUcious  Sovereign  lady,  who  understood  so 
well  how  to  put  a  proper  value  on  such  honours,  and  how  to 
touch  the  hearts  of  people  in  dispensing  them.  E\\zsLbeV\\ 
soooeeded^  bf  her  good  Judgment  and  chariness  in  giaiitrng 


28  THE  CEOMWELL  FAMILY. 

titles,  in  making  them  of  supreme  value  when  received  at  her 
hands.  A  Prime  Minister,  in  these  Victorian  days,  in  one  term 
of  office  will  create  more  Knights  and  Peers  than  Elizabeth 
during  her  long  reign  of  forty-five  years.  When  she  travelled 
from  Greenwich  to  Gravesend  to  visit  Sir  Francis  Drake,  in  his 
little  brig,  in  which  he  had  circumnavigated  the  globe,  to 
knight  him  on  the  deck  of  it,  she  performed  a  graceful  and 
queen-like  act,  which  stands  out  as  an  historical  picture  to  the 
mind.  The  conjunction  of  the  old  sea  lion  with  the  lion-hearted 
Queen  strikes  the  imagination  of  a  maritime  people  as  having 
in  it  a  special  fitness. 

Sir  Henry,  who,  on  account  of  his  magnificence,  was  known 
as  the  "  Golden  Knight,"  married  a  daughter  of  Sir  Philip 
Warren,  and  had  by  her  a  family  of  five  sons,  Oliver,  Robert, 
Henry,  Richard,  and  Philip,  and  three  daughters,  Joan, 
Elizabeth,  and  Frances.  These  sons  and  daughters  intermarried 
with  members  of  some  of  the  most  distinguished  families  in 
England,  and  were  all  settled,  with  families  of  their  own  around 
them,  before  the  old  Knight  departed  this  life,  full  of  years  and 
of  honours.  Hinchingbrook  House,  the  principal  seat  of  the 
family,  was  much  enlarged  and  improved  by  Sir  Henry.  The 
house  still  stands  much  in  the  same  state  as  it  was  left  by  him,  and 
it  is  considered  to  be  one  of  the  most  perfect  specimens  of  the 
style  of  architecture  called  Elizabethan  now  in  existence.  It 
was  sold  with  the  estate  by  Sir  Oliver  Cromwell,  the  "  Golden 
Knight's  "  oldest  son,  to  Admiral  Montague — the  "  My  Lord  "  of 
Pepys'  Diary — who  commanded  the  fleet  that  brought  over 
(Charles  II.  from  the  Hague  at  the  Restoration  ;  and  it  has  been 
owned  and  inhabited  by  the  Admiral's  descendants,  the  Earls  of 
Sandwich,  ever  since. 

To  Robert,  his  second  son,  the  father  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  on 
his  marriage.  Sir  Henry  gave  a  house  with  lands  at  Huntingdon 
of  the  value  of  three  hundred  pounds  by  the  year — a  very 
considerable  fortune  at  that  period.  His  third  son,  Henry,  was 
settled  at  Upwood,  near  Ramsey ;  his  fourth,  Richard,  near  to 
Huntingdon ;  and  his  fifth,  Philip,  at  Biggin  House,  on  the 
border  of  the  Fens.  His  daughters  were  each  of  them  heavily 
dowered,  Joan  becoming  Lady  Barrington ;  Elizabeth,  Mrs. 
William  Hampden,  of  Great  Hampden,  near  Oxford,  and 
mother  to  John  Hampden,  the  greatest  Commoner  of  his  age, 
whose  name  is  for  ever  indissolubly  bound  with  the  constitu- 
tional history  of  England.  Elizabeth  Hamixien  was  also 
grandmother  to  Edmund  Waller,  the  most  popular  poet  of  his 
age,  though  not  the  greatest.  To  be  second  only  to  John  Milton, 
was  to  occupy  a  distinguished  position,  and  that  position  he 
certainly  filled.  Frances,  the  youngest  daughter,  married 
Richard  Whalley,  Esq.,  of  Kerton,  Notts.,  and  was  mother  to 

Col,    Edward    Whalley,    whose    deeds    are    still 


THE  CROMWELL  FAMILY.  29 

remembered  and  treasured  in  New  England  ;  and  also  to  Henry 
Whalley,  the  Judge-Advocate. 

No  less  than  three  of  Sir  Henry's  sons  sat  in  the  later 
Parliaments  of  Elizabeth,  and  the  early  ones  of  James  I. — Oliver, 
Robert,  and  Henry.  He  had  nephews,  also,  and  sons-in-law 
occupying  seats,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  there  existed  any 
man  at  that  period,  who  had  around  him  so  numerous  and 
influential  a  gathering  of  Parliament  men  as  Sir  Henry 
Cromwell  had.  This  fact,  coupled  with  the  possession  of  great 
wealth,  and  the  high  connections  generally  of  the  Cromwell 
family,  will  probably  be  received  with  a  large  amount  of  doubtful 
surprise  by  many  readers ;  especially  by  such  (and  they  are 
the  most  numerous)  as  have  been  led  to  believe  that  Oliver 
Cromwell,  the  Protector,  was  a  man  of  mean  origin.  I  have 
not  sought  out  the  above  particulars  with  the  intention  of 
glorifying  him;  such  a  task  would  be  supererogatory.  If 
Cromwell  had  been  the  son  of  a  beggar,  so  much  the  more 
glory  and  credit  would  have  been  due  to  him,  for  the  greatness 
of  the  man  that  has  risen  is  in  proportion  to  the  point  he 
started  from.  It  is,  however,  better  the  literal  truth  should  be 
known,  though  that  knowledge  may  lessen  the  relative  great- 
ness of  the  man. 

Though  it  has  been  already  made  evident  that  Oliver  Crom- 
well was  well,  nay,  highly  descended  through  his  Welsh 
ancestry,  and  through  that  of  the  Cromwells,  another  ancestral 
stream  has  to  be  traced  in  liis  veins,  a  stream  which  ought  to 
satisfy  the  most  intense  admirers  of,  and  believers  in,  blue 
blood,  as  to  the  excellence  of  his  breeding.  Eobert  Cromwell, 
of  Huntingdon,  married  a  childless  widow,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Lynne, 
of  Bassingboum,  in  Cambridgeshire.  Her  maiden  name  was 
Elizabeth  Steward,  and  she  was  the  daughter  of  William 
Steward,  Esq.,  of  Ely,  an  opulent  man,  who  farmed  the 
Cathedral  tithes  and  Church  lands  belonging  to  the  Dean  and 
Chapter  of  the  see  of  Ely.  William  Steward's  ancestors,  for 
several  generations,  had  done  the  same  thing,  and  had  grown  rich 
thereby.  In  one  of  Richard  Cromwell's  letters  to  his  uncle,  the 
Earl  of  Essex,  reference  is  made  to  a  certain  "  f roward  "  Prior  of 
Ely,  imwilling  to  yield  up  his  accounts  to  the  Mcar-General. 
This  Prior,  however,  got  rid  of  his  frowardness  after  a  time, 
and  became  quite  pliant  in  respect  to  his  Priorial  properties  ; 
for  which  pliancy  he  was  rewarded  by  being  made  by 
Heniy  VIII.  first  Protestant  Dean  of  Ely.  At  his  death  the 
Dean  left  much  wealth  to  his  &mily.  Elizabeth  Steward  was 
descended  from  a  brother  to  this  Church  dignitary,  who  was 
himself  undoubtedly  descended  from  the  Stuarts  of  Scotland. 

The  Scotch  ancestor  of  Elizabeth  Steward  was  one  Walter 
Stewaxd,  cousin  to  the  Poet  King  of  Scots,  James  I.  Sucb. 
leaders  as  are  conversant  with  the  Mstory  of  the  reign  oi  'Remy 


30  THE  CROMWELL  FAMILY. 

Bolingbroke,  will  remember  the  incident  of  Prince  James  of 
Scotland  and  his  suite  being  imprisoned  in  England.  King 
Kobert  III.  of  Scots,  having  in  that  period  of  Scotch  history, 
which  more  resembles  the  history  of  kites  and  crows  than  of 
rational  people  such  as  the  Scots  have  since  pre-eminently 
become,  after  having  had  one  son  murdered,  sent  his  second 
8on,  James,  aged  thirteen,  for  safety  to  F'rance.  Escaping  from 
>Scylla,  the  poor  boy  fell  into  Charybdis,  for  an  English  man-of- 
war  snatched  him  up  on  the  way,  and  carried  him  and  his  suite 
to  a  British  port,  whence  he  was  taken  to  I^ondon.  Henry  IV. 
liad  him  kept  in  a  sort  of  honourable  imprisonment  at  Windsor 
and  at  Nottingham  for  nineteen  years ;  where  he  provided  him 
with  a  liberal  English  education.  In  confinement  he  wrote 
love  poems — after  the  manner,  and  much  in  the  same  English, 
as  Chaucer — called  the  "  King's  Quhair,"  "  Christ's  Kirk  on  the 
Oreen,"  and  others,  which  are  considered,  even  at  this  day,  to 
have  in  them  considerable  merit.  He  also  fell  in  love  with  an 
English  lady,  a  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Somerset,  whom  he 
married  when  allowed  to  return  to  Scotland.  Amongst  the 
attendants  upon  him  was  a  cousin,  Walter  Steward,  or  Stuart, 
by  name,  a  young  fellow  handsomely  endowed  by  nature,  if  not 
by  fortune.  He  distinguished  himself  at  Henry's  court,  where 
he  was  detained  on  parole,  in  all  manly  exercises,  and  won  for 
himself  an  English  bride  of  good  fortune  and  family.  Having 
in  him  the  same  disposition  found  in  his  countr3nnen  to  this 
day,  he  did  not  desire  to  return  to  Scotland,  but  settled  down 
in  the  more  genial  South,  where  sons  and  daughters  were  bom 
to  him.  From  him,  heralds  and  genealogists  have  traced 
satisfactorily,  and  placed  beyond  doubt,  the  descent  of  the 
Stewards  of  Ely,  and  consequently  that  of  Mrs.  Robert  Crom- 
well, the  mother  of  the  redoubtable  Oliver  Protector,  who  was 
cousin,  some  thirteen  removes,  to  Charles  Stuart,  whom  he  so 
pitilessly  harried. 

Oliver  Cromwell  was  bom  in  the  last  year  of  the  sixteenth 
century  (1599),  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  In  1603  his  grand- 
father, the  Golden  Knight,  died,  and  his  uncle  Oliver — a 
thriftless  man — succeeded  to  Hinchingbrook.  Later  in  the 
same  year,  the  great  Queen  Bess  having  passed  away.  King 
Jamie,  Sixth  of  Scots,  First  of  England,  journeying  south  by  easy 
stages  to  occupy — not  to  fill — Elizabeth's  throne,  spent  two 
nights  at  Hinchingbrook,  it  being  the  most "  famous  and  spacious 
house  in  those  parts."  Uncle  Oliver  gave  him  princely  enter- 
tainment, and  loaded  him  and  his  greedy  followers  with  splendid 
presents,  receiving  a  Knighthood  of  the  Bath  as  his  reward,  at 
King  James's  coronation.  This  uncle  Oliver  married  the  Lady  Anne, 
widow  of  Sir  Horatio  Palavicini.  In  1617,  when  Oliver  Cromwell 
was  nearly  of  age,  the  King  (James)  paid  another  visit  to 
Hinchingbrook,  which  visit  proved  to  be  the  last  feather  frhich 


THE  CROMWELL  FAMILY.  31 

broke  Uncle  Oliver  down.  Young  Oliver  now  came  in  contact 
with  Royalty  at  his  uncle's  house,  and,  no  doubt,  mentally  and 
morally  measured  himself  against  the  King  and  his  minions. 
Apart  from  his  kingship,  there  was  nothing  about  James  worthy 
of  honour  and  res])ect,  the  abstract  "  divinity  which  doth  hedge 
a  king"  being  conspicuous  in  his  case  by  its  absence. 

What  opinions  Oliver  may  have  formed  of  him  are  not  revealed ; 
but  it  may  safely  be  assumed  that  his  respect  for  kingship  was  not 
much  strengthened  by  this  visit,  and  by  his  witnessing  the 
manners  of  the  King  and  his  court.  James  was  on  his  way  to 
Scotland,  to  try  his  personal  influence  on  his  countrymen  in 
favour  of  Episcopacy.  He  had  been  himself  bred  a  Presby- 
terian, but  eagerly  embraced  the  English  forms  of  religion  when 
he  ascended  the  English  throne.  His  attempts  to  influence  the 
Scots  came  to  nothing,  and  worse  than  nothing. 

Uncle  Oliver,  much  involved  by  extravagant  living  and  kingly 
visits,  found  it  necessary  to  sell  off  some  of  his  estates. 
Hinchingbrook,  Llanishen,  and  Neath  Abbey  were  accordingly 
disposed  of,  and  he  retired  to  a  smaller  establishment  low  down 
in  Cambridgeshire,  amongst  the  Fens.  When  the  Civil  War 
broke  outj  he  and  his  sons  remained  loyal  to  the  Stuarts.  His 
nephew  Oliver,  who,  as  captain  of  Parliamentary  Horse,  was 
very  diligent  in  his  duties,  had  occasion  to  make  a  morning  call 
on  Uncle  Oliver  under  the  following  circumstances : — 

The  Colleges  of  Oxford,  early  in  the  war,  had  melted  down 
their  plate  for  the  service  of  the  King.  The  Parliament,  feeling 
doubtful  about  Cambridge,  sent  an  order  to  the  chief  officer  in 
command  in  that  region  to  call  upon  the  Colleges  to  resign  the 
custody  of  their  plate  until  the  troubles  were  past ;  just  for 
security — nothing  more,  for  a  careful  inventory  was  to  be  taken 
and  a  receipt  given.  The  officer  in  this  case  happened  to  be 
Oliver  Cromwell.  He  was  also  instructed  to  secure  the  plate 
from  the  houses  of  all  distinguished  malcontents ;  and  Uncle 
Oliver  being  one  of  those,  and  his  stock  of  plate  well  known  to 
the  said  captain,  he  paid  him  an  unex][)ected  and  uninvited  visit. 
*'  Just  for  safety,  you  know,  dear  uncle,  in  these  troublous  times. 
Every  article  to  be  faithfully  returned  when  the  troubles  are 
past."  He  would  not  wear  his  hat  in  his  uncle's  presence,  and 
paid  him  every  honour.  "  Painful  duty,  but  must  do  it."  All 
the  plate  thus  collected  from  college,  hall,  and  mansion  was 
faithfully  returned,  so  strictly  just  are  we  and  faithful  to  promise. 
It  need  not  be  added  that  Oxford  never  got  its  plate  back. 

Though  the  old  territorial  links  that  bound  the  Cromwell 
fiunily  with  Glamorgan  had  been  severed,  new  ones  of  a  personal 
natme  began  now  to  be  formed  in  a  perfectly  natiural  manner. 
Oliver  St.  John,  the  fieunous  Ship  Money  lawyer,  so  called  from 
his  havinff  argued  so  stoutly  and  daringly  the  illegality  of  th^it* 
impost  men  resisted  by  John  Hampden,  was  a  GlamoTgan  inaii. 


32  THE  CROMWELL  FAMILY. 

Though  he  pleaded  in  vain  before  the  King's  venal  judges,  and 
though  Charles  got  a  verdict  in  his  favour,  it  proved  to  be  the 
most  costly  verdict  on  record,  for  it  led  to  the  loss  to  Charles  of 
three    kingdoms    and  his  own  head.     Oliver  St.  John  was  a 
member  of  the  house  of  St.  John,  of  Fonmon  Castle,  Glamorgan, 
of  the  same  name,  even,  as  his  Norman  ancestor,  who  is  said  to 
have  received  the  lordship  of  Fonmon  from  Robert  Fitz  Hamon 
(1094).     The  head  of  this  family  had  been  ennobled  by  Elizabeth, 
imder  the  title  of  Baron  St.  John,  of  Bletsoe,  and  Viscount 
Grandison  and  Baron  Tregoze  in  the  Irish  Peerage.     The  third 
baron,  in  the  reign  of  James  I.,  received  another  step  in  the 
Peerage,    being    created  Earl  of   Bolingbroke ;   but  this  title 
became  extinct  at  his  death.     It  was,  however,  revived  in  favour 
of  that  brilliant  politician  and  author  in  the  reign  of  Queen 
Anne,  Henry  St.  John,  who  was  made  Viscount  Bolingbroke  and 
Baron  Tregoze.     The  Elizabethan  title — St.  John  of  Bletsoe — 
still  survives.    The  Earl  of  Bolingbroke  sold  the  P'onmon  Estat-es, 
in  1649,  to  Philip  Johnes,  or  Jones,  Esq.,  of  Llangyfelach,  whose 
descendants  still  reside  there. 

Oliver  St.  John  married  Oliver  Cromwell's  cousin,  daughter 
to  Uncle  Henry,  of  Upwood ;  cousin  also  to  John  Hampden,  his 
distinguished  client  in  the  Ship  Money  business.  He  sat  for 
Totnes  in  the  Long  Parliament,  became  Solicitor-General,  and, 
ultimately.  Chief  Justice  of  England.  He  was  member,  also,  of 
the  Committee  of  both  Kingdoms,  and  the  Derby  House 
Committee.  Both  he  and  his  wife— judging  by  their  corre- 
sjKjndence — were  strictly  Puritanic  in  their  views  of  religion,  and 
were  much  in  the  confidence  of  Oliver  Cromwell.  Difficulties 
having  arisen  over  trade  matters  with  the  Dutch,  Oliver  St.  John 
— the  fittest  man — was  sent  to  Holland  diplomatically.  He  did 
not  find  the  Dutch  tractable ;  so  he  gave  them  a  piece  of  his 
tough  mind,  came  back  in  a  huff,  passed  the  famous  Navigation 
Laws,  and  ruined  their  trade.  A  man,  evidently,  not  to  be 
trifled  with  was  Oliver  St.  John. 

Another  connection  formed  by  a  Welshman — though  not  a 
Glamorgan  man — with  the  Cromwell  family  was  that  of  Colonel 
John  Jones,  the  regicide,  member  in  the  Long  Parliament  for 
Merionethshire,  who  married  Oliver  Cromwell's  sister,  widow  of 
Colonel  Whitstone,  of  the  Parliamentary  army.  I  do  not  know 
which  of  the  hundred  and  one  families  of  Welsh  Joneses  he 
belonged  to,  but  he  was  a  man  high  in  favour  with  Oliver 
Protector.  At  the  Restoration  he  was  hung  as  a  regicide.  There 
were  three  Colonel  Joneses  who  distinguished  themselves  on  the 
side  of  the  Parliament  in  the  wars — John,  IVIichael,  and  Philip, 
each  of  them  closely  connected  officially  with  Cromwell.  Colonel 
Michael  Jones  was  in  command  in  Ireland  when  Cromwell 
landed,  and  did  good  service  there  by  defeating  the  rebels  a  few 
days  before  be  was  superseded.    Altogether  nine  Welsh  colonels 


THE  CKOMWELL  FAMILY.  33 

of  above  the  average  ability  fought  in  the  Civil  Wars.  Three 
fought  for  the  Parliament  throughout,  three  for  the  King,  and 
three  others  for  both  sides  indifferently ;  the  latter  being  Jroyer, 
Powell,  and  Humphrey  Mathew. 

Colonel  Philip  Johnes,  or  Jones,  of  Llangyfelach,  was  a  man 
of  remarkable  ability,  high  integrity,  and  greatly  respected  in 
and  about  Swansea.  In  the  Long  Parliament  he  sat  for  Breck- 
nockshire ;  in  one  of  the  Protector's  Parliaments  for  ^lonmouth- 
shire,  in  another  of  them  for  Glamorgan,  and,  after  the 
Restoration,  vras  returned  for  Brecknock  and  Glamorgan.  He 
seems  to  have  been  one  of  Cromwell's  most  trusted  friends,  was 
in  his  Council  of  State,  on  the  Committee  of  Kingship,  and  was 
one  of  his  Peers.  He  was  also  a  commissioner  for  the  better 
propagation  of  the  gospel  in  Wales,  Lord-Lieutenant  for 
Glamorgan,  and  Comptroller  of  the  Household  to  the  Protector. 
About  1649  he  purchased  the  castle  and  manor  of  Fonmon  from 
St.  John,  Earl  of  Bolingbroke,  and  at  the  Restoration  retired 
thither,  and  was  not  in  any  way  molested ;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
wa8  trusted  and  continued  in  his  lieutenancy.  He  was  High 
Sheriff  in  1671,  and  died,  greatly  honoured,  in  1674. 

I  have  before  me  a  scurrilous  pamphet,  one  of  many  such 
]>ublished  after  the  Restoration,  it  being  a  perfectly  safe  game 
to  **  kick  a  dead  lion."  It  is  called  the  "  Court  and  Kitchen  of 
Mrs.  Joan  Cromwell."  Mrs.  Cromwell's  name  was  Elizabeth ;  but 
the  low  libeller,  who  was  writing  for  the  pleasure  of  the  Cavalier 
party,  imagined  that  to  call  her  Joan  involved  an  excellent  joke. 
It  deals  with  her  supposed  extreme  parsimony  in  hou8ekee2)ing ; 
and,  were  the  charges  true,  which  ihey  are  not,  they  would 
only  prove  that  she  possessed  the  virtue  of  economy,  and 
required  her  money's  worth  for  her  money.  The  following  is  an 
extract  there&om  :  "  And  the  reason  she  used  to  give  for  this 
her  frugal  inspection  and  parsimony,  was  the  small  allowance 
and  mean  pittance  she  had  to  defray  the  household  expenses, 
which,  at  her  first  coming  to  Court-keeping,  was  barely  sixty- 
four  thousand  pounds  per  annum,  until  Colonel  Philip  Jones 
came  to  be  Comptroller  of  the  Household  when  the  weekly  charge 
was  nineteen  hundred  and  twenty-three  pounds  odd  money,  the 
deMcation  of  the  rest  from  the  just  sum  of  two  thousand  pounds, 
at  the  rate  of  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  yearly,  making  up 
the  four  thousand  pounds  for  the  two  weeks  above,  the  fifty,  so 
exactly  was  this  charge  computed,  and  method  pimctually 
obaervBd,  that  there  might  be  no  place  for  excess,  and,  by  means 
thereof,  for  deceit  or  any  colluding  practices."  After  the 
Restoration  such  virtues  as  Mrs.  Cromwell's  were  certainly  at  a 
disoonnty  and  attempts  to  preserve  order  and  make  ends  meet 
were  not  tried,  but  went  utterly  out  of  fashion.  Colonel 
Philip  JaoBifB  SQCoessfiil  elSbrts  to  assist  Mrs.  Cromwell  formed 
the  gromids  of  a  ]mblic  ebaige  made  against  him  by  bis  enemie^^ 

o 


34  THE  CROMWELL  FAMILY. 

but  it  utterly  and  signally  failed.  The  fact  that  Cromwell 
was  esteemed  by  such  men  as  Philip  Jones,  and  by  John  Milton, 
should  not  bo  forgotten    in    estimating   his    character. 

The  mention  of  Milton  reminds  me  that  Edmund  Waller,  the 
l)oet,  was  cousin,  once  removed  to  Oliver  Cromwell.  His  life  was 
quite  a  romance.  His  mother  was  sister  to  John  Hampden ;  but, 
spite  of  that,  he  was  an  avowed  Eoyalist.  Her  son,  the  poet, 
violated  the  rule  of  poverty  which  usually  accompanies  poetic 
gifts,  by  becoming  ]:x)ssessed  of  three  thousand  five  hundred 
pounds  a  year  when  quite  a  boy.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Long 
Parliament,  and  most  other  Parliaments,  down  to  the  reign  of 
James  II.  He  was  easy,  witty,  and  accomplished,  but 
destitute  of  high  principle  and  deep  feeling.  A  Koyalist  at 
heart,  he  spoke  in  Parliament  against  the  King,  and  sent 
him  one  thousand  pounds  next  day.  Being  mixed  up  in 
some  mysterious  plot  he  was  fined  ten  thousand  pounds,  im- 
prisoned, and  afterwards  exiled.  When  Cromwell's  star  was 
in  the  ascendant,  he  returned,  and  wrote  a  very  beautiful 
panegyric  on  the  Protector.  At  the  Restoration  he  wrote  an 
inferior  poem  on  Charles ;  and  when  taxed  by  Charles  with  this 
inferiority,  wittily  replied  that  "  poets  always  succeed  best  in 
fiction."  He  made  love  to  Lady  Dorothea,  Algernon  Sidney's 
sister,  and  wrote  endless  verses  to  her,  addressing  her  as 
'•  Sacharissa,"  She,  however,  married  the  Earl  of  Sunderland. 
In  her  old  age  she  asked  him  when  he  would  write  verses  to 
her  again.  "  When  you  are  again  beautiful,"  was  his  brutal 
reply.  He  died  just  before  the  Revolution  of  1688,  and  his 
heir  joined  the  Prince  of  Orange. 

The  Ijong  Parliament,  in  1648,  passed  an  ordinance  to  settle 
two  thousand  five  hundred  pounds  a  year  in  land  upon  the 
Lieutenant-General  Cromwell,  for  his  distinguished  services. 
A  committee  was  appointed  to  discover  what  lands  forfeited  by 
Malignant s  were  available.  At  first  the  estates  of  the  Marquis 
of  Winchester  (Basing  House  having  been  recently  taken), 
were  enquired  into,  but  they  were  found  to  be  very  heavily 
encumbered — the  Marquis,  in  fact,  having  but  a  limitod 
interest  in  them.  The  Duke  of  Buckingham's  jMipers  were 
then  investigated,  and  five  small  manors  selected;  but  they 
would  not  yield  the  desired  amount.  Raglan  Castle  had 
just  been  taken  by  Fairfax,  and  mayhap  the  Marquis  of 
Worcester's  estate,  now  forfeited,  may  help  that  out.  The 
erquiry  prospers,  and  certain  manors  are  chosen,  in  value  far 
above  the  required  amount,  so  Clement  Walker  says.  On  the 
7th  of  March,  accordingly,  an  ordinance  is  i)assed,  granting  to 
Cromwell  "certain  lands  and  manors  in  the  counties  of 
Gloucester,  Monmouth,  and  Glamorgan,  called  Woolaston  and 
Charlton,  in  Gloucestershire,  Chepstow,  Magor,  and  Sidenham, 
in  Monmouthshire  ;  and  Gower,  in  Glamorgan.  The  Glamorgan 


THE  CEOMWELL  FAMILY.  35 

manors  are  set  down  by  the  Committee  as  of  the  value  of 
four  hundred  and  seventy-nine  pounds  by  the  year.  Those 
Gower  lands  are  not  strictly  recognisable  at  this  day  as  regards 
boundary,  but  they  were  chiefly  situated  in  the  parishes  of 
Bishopston,  Pennard,  and  Ilston.  Colonel  Philip  Jones 
rented  a  portion  from  Cromwell,  called  "  Forest  Isha,"  at  thirty 
pounds  a  year,  it  being  near  to  his  residence  at  Llangafelach. 
At  the  Restoration  the  manors  reverted  to  the  Marquis  of 
Worcester,  the  author  of  the  famous  "  Century  of  Inventions," 
in  which  steam  is  first  indicated  as  a  possible  motive  power. 
With  this  reversion  the  connection  of  the  Cromwell  family  with 
Glamorgan  ceased  for  ever. 

The  women  of  Cromwell's  family — his  mother,  wife,  aunts, 
sisters,  and  daughters,  a  numerous  company,  were  all,  without 
exception,  spotless  in  character  and  bearing ;  above  reproach  in 
every  relation  in  life.  Living,  as  they  were  compelled  to  do,  in 
the  white  light  which  surrounded  their  distinguished  position, 
the  slightest  flaw  in  one  of  them  would  have  been  caught  up 
and  amplified  indefinitely  by  writers  on  the  side  of  the  Cavalier 
party,  which  arrogated  to  itself  the  gentlemanly  qualities  of 
the  age.  But,  eager  as  this  party  was  to  discover  blots  of  any 
kind,  none  with  any  foundation  in  fact  were  ever  discovered. 

Oliver  Cromwell,  married  in  his  22nd  year,  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  Sir  James  Bourchier,  Knight,  of  P^elstead  in  Essex, 
and  had  by  her  five  sons  and  four  daughters,  of  whom 
three  sons  and  all  the  daughters  arrived  at  maturity. 
His  eldest  son,  Bobert,  died  at  Felstead  School,  aged 
eighteen.  His  second,  Oliver,  was  killed  quite  early  in  the  Civil 
Wars.  Bichard,  the  luckless,  married  a  daughter  of  Richard 
Magor,  of  Hursley,  Hants.  This  particular  Cromwell  was  idle, 
and  void  of  character,  and  died  in  deserved  neglect,  at  Cheshunt, 
in  1712.  Henry,  who  fought  under  Harrison  at  sixteen,  was 
a  capable  and  promising  young  man.  He  was  Lord  Deputy 
in  Ireland  under  his  &ther,  and  died,  unmarried,  in  1674. 
Garlyle  writes  of  him:  "  He  was  a  brave  man  and  true.  Had 
he  been  named  Protector  instead  of  Bichard,  there  had  most 
likely  been  quite  another  History  of  England  to  write  at 
present." 

diverts  sisters  were  settled  thus :  Catharine,  as  has  been 
shewn  became  the  wife  of  Colonel  John  Jones ;  Elizabeth  died 
unmarried;  Margaret  became  Mrs.  Walton;  Annie,  Mrs. 
Lewfltery  and  Jane,  Mrs.  Desborrow ;  all  married  to  country 
gentlemen  of  good  repute  and  estate  in  Huntingdon  and 
Gunhridga  Hobina  fint  married  Dr.  French,  a  physician  of 
eminence,  and  after  his  death.  Bishop  Wilkins.  Her  one  child 
bf  French  was  mairied  to  Archbishop  Tillotson.  All  honourable 
oonnectioiifl,  it  mnst  be  admitted. 

c  2 


36  THE  CROMWELL  FAMILY. 

Of  Cromwell's  daughters,  Bridget  married,  first,  General 
Ireton,  and  afterwards  General  Fleetwood,  both  highly  dis- 
tinguished men.  Elizabeth  (the  saintly)  was  Mrs.  Claypole,  of 
whom  and  her  husband  Oliver  wrote,  "truly  they  are  dear  to 
me."  Mary  married  Lord  Fauconberg,  of  an  old  Yorkshire 
stock,  the  Bellasis  family,  described  as  a  brilliant,  ingenious  and 
hopeful  young  man,  of  extraordinary  parts.  Mary  herself  was 
a  brilliant  and  most  witty  woman.  She  lived  to  a  great  age,  and 
was  known  to  and  greatly  admired  by  Dean  Swift.  Sir  Antony 
Ashley  Cooper,  the  ancestor  of  the  present  Lord  Shaftesbury, 
want^  to  marry  her.  Frances  Cromwell  married  Mr.  Rich, 
son  to  Lord  Rich,  and  grandson  and  heir  presumptive  to  the 
Earl  of  Warwick,  and  had  splendid  prospects  ;  but,  alas  !  Mr. 
Rich  died  in  four  months  after  marriage  (16th  February,  1658). 
Some  years  later  she  become  Lady  Russell.  Mrs.  Claypole,  the 
most  popular  member  of  the  Protector's  family,  died  in  the 
following  August,  and  the  Lord  Protector  himself  the  following 
month  (September  3rd,  1658).  Mrs.  Cromwell,  on  the  death  of 
her  husband,  retired  to  the  house  of  her  sorrowful  son-in-law, 
Mr.  Claypole,  and  there,  in  profound  retirement,  ended  her 
eventful  days. 

My  notes,  taken  at  sundry  times,  and  extending  over  many 
years,  are  now  exhausted.  So  much  prejudice  has  been 
generated  by  the  very  mention  of  Cromwell,  that  few  persons 
care  to  attempt  to  study  the  character  of  the  man  closely,  or 
seek  after  a  knowledge  of  his  surroundings.  I  venture  to  hope 
that  the  facts  here  strung  together,  however  inartistically,  may 
at  least  tend  to  convince  some  minds  that  Oliver  Cromwell  was 
a  member  of  one  of  the  most  notable  families  to  be  foimd  in 
English  history.  In  the  short  space  of  the  life  of  a  nation 
which  one  hundred  and  sixty  years  will  cover,  this  Cromwell- 
W^illiams  family  produced,  or  were  closely  connected  with,  a 
series  of  remarkable  men,  who  have  graved  their  names  deeply 
upon  the  history  of  Britain.  There  was  this  singular  feature  in 
the  career  of  the  family,  which  must  strike  every  reader,  that 
though  it  ended  in  assisting  to  destroy  a  monarchy  and  an 
Established  Episcopal  Church,  replacing  the  one  by  a  Pro- 
tectorate and  the  other  by  a  Puritan  form  of  worship,  it  had  it« 
beginning  within  the  period  indicated,  and  in  a  material  sense,  in 
rendered  services  in  founding  a  new  reigning  family — the 
Tudors,  and  in  the  support  given  to  a  Reformed  Episcopal 
Church.  To  the  service  of  the  State  it  gave  a  statesman  of 
the  first  rank,  a  man  of  unbounded  official  ability,  a  pillar  to, 
and  a  martyr  of  the  Reformation — ^Thomas  Cromwell,  Earl  of 
Essex.  To  the  Chm-ch  it  yielded,  counting  officially,  two  Arch- 
bishops, a  Bishop,  three  Deans,  and  a  Roysd  Chaplain.  To  the 
law,  a  Lord  Keeper  of  the  Seals  and  a  Lord  Cluef  Justice  of 


THE  CROMWELL  FAillLY.  37 

England.  To  the  country  at  large,  a  man  whose  name  is  almost 
synonymous  with  the  term  patriotism — John  Hampden.  To 
literature  it  gave  Edmund  Waller,  the  poet,  second  in  his  day 
only  to  John  Milton.  To  the  army  it  gave  men  whose  success 
has  stamped  their  abilities ;  the  whole  culminating  in  a  Lord 
Protector  of  the  English  Commonwealth,  who  governed  England 
for  eight  years  almost  autocratically,  with  an  ability  and  success 
which  even  Clarendon,  a  rank  enemy  of  his,  was  obliged  to 
confess  to  have  been  supreme. 

JSL  Athan.  John  Howells. 


A  ROMANCE  OF  PENNARD-GOWER. 


The  shadow  of  the  castle  was  falling  on  the  cliff,  and 

The  shadow  of  the  cliff  upon  the  sea, 
Whilst  a  maiden  fair  did  weep,  in  that  castle  on  the  steep. 

As  she  thought  that  with  the  dawn  she  would  again  be  free. 
Hers  were  not  tears  of  sorrow — joy  gleamed  upon  the  morrow, 

Far  away  from  haughty  knights  and  haughtier  sire. 
For  a  little  skiff  did  lay  'neath  the  shadow  in  the  bay, 

And  in  it  was  Llewellyn  of  the  Lyre. 

The  shadow  of  the  castle  is  lessening  on  the  cliff,  and 

The  shadow  of  the  cliff  upon  the  sea. 
Should  PhcBbus  prove  untrue,  soon  the  skiff  will  be  in  view. 

Then,  alas !  for  the  lovers  that  would  flee. 
Haste  thee,  Gwynneth,  to  the  shore — haste  thee  now,  or  never 
more 

Shalt  thou  see  the  living  form  of  thy  desire ; 
For  the  castle  guns  will  roar,  and  Llewellyn's  spirit  soar. 

Towards  the  refrain  and  the  echo  of  his  lyre. 

The  shadow  of  the  castle  has  ceased  upon  the  cliff,  and 

The  shadow  of  the  cliff  upon  the  sea. 
And  now  does  Gwynneth  weep,  on  the  margin  of  the  deep, 

And  her  tears  they  are  no  longer  those  of  glee. 
'Xeath  the  ripple  of  the  wave,  Gwynneth  sought  Llewellyn's 
grave. 

Beyond  reach  of  haughty  knight  and  haughtier  sire. 
And  oft  now,  in  the  hazy  light,  comes  a  vision  on  the  sight 

Of  Gwynneth  and  Llewellyn  of  the  Lyre. 

ROBT.   D.   DURNIE. 

Swansea. 


YS  PEMBROKESflIRE  WITH  A  SKETCH  BOOK. 

BY      JOHN     EOGEBS      KEES. 


We  were  to  have  a  whole  fortnight's  holiday  together — my 
brother  and  I.  He  said  the  cobwebs  were  accumulating  too 
rapidly  about  his  studious  brain,  and  that  he  required  the  fresh 
winds  and  the  sunshine  to  disperse  them,  and  I — well,  in  sober 
truth,  I  wanted  to  forget  for  a  few  short  days  that  there  was  such 
a  thing  as  an  office  in  existence*  Where  should  we  go  ?  To 
Jersey  ?  No.  To  the  North  of  France  ?  No.  The  **  clang  of  the 
wooden  shoon  "  isn't  always  music  in  the  twilight.  Why  not 
tread  near  home  in  a  few  of  Turner's  footsteps?  He  loved  old 
castles,  grey  and  ruined  and  ivy-mantled,  and  we  dear  lovers 
of  romance  and  ancient  story  loved  them  too.  So,  after  some 
lengthened  consideration,  we  turned  our  attention  to  "  little 
England  beyond  Wales,"  and  prepared  for  oiur  outing.  Two 
light  bags  contained  our  necessaries.  My  brother  crammed  his 
pockets  with  books — ^a  volume  of  Tennyson,  Walton's  "Angler," 
Irving's  "  Sketch-Book,"  and  some  lighter  literature.  I  verily 
believe  he  was  smuggling  away  into  some  endless  pocket 
Darwin's  "  Origin  of  Species,"  a  horrid  volume  on  geology,  and 
another,  on  the  tirst  page  of  which  I  caught  sight  of  that 
inartistic  word  "  Protoplasm."  This  was  too  much  ;  I  preached 
to  him  for  fully  five  minutes  on  the  subject  of  the  cobwebs  he 
wished  blown  away,  and,  as  a  result,  saw  the  Species,  the  Geology, 
and  the  Protoplasm  back  in  their  respective  places  on  his  book- 
shelves. Then  there  was  my  equipment — a  light  French  sketch- 
ingt-easel,  a  block  of  oiled  paper,  a  Winsor  and  Newton's 
japanned  color-box,  fitted  with  tubes,  brushes,  and  oils,  and  a 
light  sketching  stool.  These  were  firmly  secured  by  straps, 
and  made  a  neat  portable  bundle,  firom  which  nothing  could  be 
spared.  If  Sir  Oamet  Wolseley  had  addressed  me,  as  he  did  one 
of  his  soldiersy  with  the  words,  ^  Now,  my  man,  if  you  were  told 
to  ligfaten  TOUT  kit  by  half-A-i)ound,  what  would  you  throw 
airay  ?"  I  should  bBve  respectfully  saluted  the  gallant  Oeneni 


40       PEMBEOKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK. 

and  replied,  "  I  can  spare  nothing ;  perhaps  my  brother  will 
give  up  one  of  his  books." 

We  were  fortunate  in  the  weather.  The  sun  threw  out  great 
broad  glances,  full  of  warmth  and  welcome,  as  we  stepped  out 
of  our  train  on  to  the  platform  at  Tenby  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
first  day  of  our  holidays.  We  had  previously  engaged  apartments 
in  a  private  residence,  it  being  understood  that  the  hotels  were 
all  more  or  less  crammed.  To  these  we  wound  our  way,  and  found 
our  landlady  fiill  of  bluster  and  fuss,  rattling  her  spoons  and  clink- 
ing her  crockery,  all  in  honour  of  our  having  been  dropped  by  the 
train  that  afternoon  at  Tenby. 

"  Fussy  old  mortal,"  suggested  Dick,  in  an  undertone. 

«  Rather,"  said  I. 

But,  "fussy "as  she  undoubtedly  was,  she  made  us  very 
comfortable  during  the  hours  we  spent  under  her  roof,  and  her 
cooking  was  excellent. 

We  wandered  about  the  sands  the  evening  of  our  arrival,  and 
strolled  leisurely  through  the  town,  admiring  the  prettiness  of 
the  little  place,  which  of  late  years  has  become  the  veritable 
queen  of  South  Wales.  Clean  and  fresh,  as  if  the  sea-breezes 
sweeping  by  had  left  their  sweetness  to  linger  in  the  streets, 
the  town  is,  nevertheless,  studded  here  and  there  with  scraps  of 
masonry  shapen  in  antiquity,  and  which  tend  to  redeem  the 
place  from  the  implication  of  being  "  new  "  that  quality  so 
distasteful  to  the  cultivated  holiday-maker.  An  artist-friend 
once  drew  my  attention  to  a  cottage  nestling  in  a  charmingly 
secluded  spot.  "  There,"  said  he,  "  would  be  a  pretty  picture,  if 
that  cottage  were  not  white-washed." 

And  then  when  our  wanderings  through  the  town  were 
finished,  how  pleasant  it  was  to  sit  on  the  beach  in  the 
gloaming,  and  to  puff  the  smoke  from  our  cigars,  forgetful  of 
the  busy  world  from  which  we  had  just  made  our  escape,  and 
envious  only  of  the  youths  who,  with  a  little  down  upon  their 
lips,  and  pretty  arms  linked  in  theirs,  walked  about  on  the 
sands  as  if  the  world  lay  at  their  feet,  and  there  were  no  battles 
further  on  in  their  lives,  in  which,  though  sometimes  victors, 
they  would  also  sometimes  be  ignobly  defeated.  Ah,  happy 
time  of  youth,  full  of  golden  glimpses  and  gorgeous  dreams ; 
alas !  too  soon  to  fade. 

Next  morning  we  started  for  Carew  Castle.  The  only  convey- 
ance we  could  procure  was  a  little  basket  carriage,  drawn  b^  a 
strong  shaggy  pony.  "  There  you  are,  sir,"  said  the  owner  of 
the  livery-stables,  to  whom  we  had  been  directed ;  "  you  can 
have  that  one  as  long  as  you  like  for  ten  shillings  a  day,  and 
feed  for  the  animal.  He'll  trot  you  out  to  Carew  sharp,  and  if 
you  don't  like  to  come  back  to-night,  you  can  put  up  at  the 
*  Ploughman  and  Fiddle.'  The  concern's  yours  for  ten  shillings  a 
da^  from  now."    We  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  took  the 


PEMBEOKESHIBE  SKETCH  BOOK.  41 

"  concern,"  which  really  turned  out  to  be  no  bad  "  concern," 
after  all.  How  important  Dick  looked  as  he  took  the  reins  and 
whip,  and  drove,  with  many  a  flourish,  tlirough  the  town,  up  to 
the  door  of  our  domicile.  His  studious  face  looked  little  like 
that  of  a  Jehu  ;  and,  if  it  must  be  confessed,  his  manner  of 
reining  and  whipping  was  not  that  of  a  Jehu.  But  he  had 
Tennyson  in  his  pocket,  and  I  my  sketching  materials  at  my 
feet  in  the  conveyance,  and  both  of  us  a  blue  sky  and  sunshine 
above ;  what  cared  we  for  the  graces  of  a  jockey  or  a  cabby.  I 
positively  believe  we  should  have  laughed  even  at  Longfellow, 
had  he  passed  by  just  then,  singing  his  own  "Psalm  of 
Life." 

"  Life  is  real  life  is  earnest." 

I  Ate  was  to  us  a  holiday,  and  we  were  content. 

We  found  Carew  Castle  a  magnificent  old  pile  of  ruins ;  andy 
compared  with  some  other  ancient  buildings  we  had  visited,  in 
very  good  preservation.  What  most  surprised  us  were  the 
dimensions  of  the  great  windows  facing  the  north,  which 
originally  gave  light  to  the  state-room,  over  one  hundred  feet 
long.  We  had  seen  nothing  so  noble  before.  As  we  walked 
about  the  ruins,  the  stillness  of  the  great  mass  seemed  to  throw 
out  its  influence  upon  both  of  us.  To  me,  the  past  stood  forth 
vividly ;  the  years  since  Henry  the  Seventh  was  lodged  here, 
on  his  way  to  the  field  of  Bosworth,  appeared  but  as  the 
moments  of  a  last  night's  dream.  The  curtain  hiding  the  dead 
and  the  past  was  drawn  aside,  and  life  was  new  and  young 
again.  The  tilt  and  tournament  held  by  Sir  Rhys  ap  Thomas, 
in  celebration  of  his  admission  as  companion  of  the  (Jrder  of  the 
Garter,  with  all  their  attendant  pageantry  and  show,  were  to 
my  imagination  as  real  and  magnificent  as  when  Sir  Thomas 
Perrott,  Arnold  Butler,  GriflSth  Dunn,  Vaughan  of  Tretowre, 
Jenkin  Mansell  the  Valiant,  Sir  William  Herbert  and  Wynn  of 
Gwydir  gathered  together  to  do  honour  to  their  illustrious  host» 
I  rode  again,  with  brave  Sir  Rhys  and  his  gay  company,  from 
Carew  Castle  to  the  bishop's  palace  at  Lamphey,  and  joined  in 
the  service  held  in  the  chapel,  by  the  bishop  the  Abbot  of 
Talley,  and  the  Prior  of  Carmarthen ;  I  listened  to  the  "  much 
good  musicke,  the  manie  new  hymnes  and  an  themes  they  had 
made  of  purpose  for  that  solemnitie,"  and  I  joined  in  the  prayers 
for  the  "long  life,  peace,  and  prosperitie  of  the  kinge,  and 
for  the  pest  of  St.  George's  soule,  and  his  safe  deliveraunce  out 
of  pmgatorie."  In  the  evenings  I  sat  in  the  banqueting  hall 
with  the  guests,  enjoyed  the  princely  feasts,  drank  the  healths 
of  the  king,  queen,  and  prince,  and  listened  to  the  bards 
aooomponying  themselves  on  their  harps,  as  they  sang  their 
wild  songs,  ftdl  of  fire  and  poetry.  A  voice  near  me  broke  the 
spelL 


42  PEAIBEOKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK. 

"  I  wonder  what  makes  the  both  of  us  so  moody  ?■'  it  said. 
^'  Come  along,  let  us  get  clear  of  this  for  the  time  being.  Are 
you  going  to  sketch  to-day  ?" 

^  Why,  Dick,"  I  cried,  '*  you  have  dispersed  my  phantoms. 
I  was  just  about  starting  for  Carmarthen  with  some  of  old  Sir 
Rhys'  guests.  Anyhow,  they  are  gone  now.  Come  along,  let 
us  look  for  views  for  our  sketching." 

We  left  the  grounds  by  the  gate  near  the  old  cross,  and  passed 
over  the  bridge  to  the  foot-path  from  which  Turner  took  the 
sketch  for  his  picture  of  the  cattle.  Retracing  our  steps,  in 
order  to  get  all  the  windows  into  a  pleasant  perspective,  we  made 
our  resting-place  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  bridge-wall,  from 
which  was  taken  the  first  sketch  that  illustrates  this  article. 
We  were,  however,  not  free  from  interruption  during  our  work ; 
still,  our  interruption  was  not  of  a  nature  to  make  it  api^earthat 
we  at  all  "labomed  under  difficulties."  The  first  occurred 
while  I  was  busy  sketching  in  my  outline,  and  Dick,  supporting 
his  head  on  his  hands,  was  leaning  against  the  stonework  of  the 
bridge,  dreamily  whistling  snatches  of  ^'  Patience "  music. 
There  was  a  clatter  of  wooden  clogs  upon  the  stones  in  the  road ; 
but  the  sound  suddenly  ceased,  quite  near  us.  We  both  looked 
round.  A  hearty-looking  female  rustic,  with  a  knowing  twinkle 
of  the  eye,  saluted  us : 

"  Now,  indeed,  I  thinks  ya  be  makin'  a  map  of  en." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Dick,  "  such  is  the  case.  You  have  a  nice 
country  about  here." 

^'Ay,  pritty  tidy,  sure,"  and  away  went  our  art-critic  in 
wooden  clogs,  leaving  us  alone  to  our  work  and  our  dreams. 

The  clouds  began  to  gather  in  what  had  been,  for  the 
previous  jxart  of  the  day,  a  cloudless  sky ;  and,  just  as  I  was 
finishing,  a  few  large  drops  came  pattering  down.  Dick, 
however,  had  the  umbrella  instantlv  unfurled,  and  soon  I  was 
working  away  as  blithely  as  ever,  all  my  materials  under  cover. 
I  suppose  the  figure  we  cut  standing  up  against  the  bridge  in 
tsuch  a  contented  manner,  with  our  heads  and  shoulders  out  of 
sight,  must  have  aroused  the  inquisitiveness  of  at  least  one 
passer-by.  A  head  peeped  round  our  umbrella  in  ui)on  us  and 
our  work,  then  a  white  tie  appeared  beneath  the  chin  of  the 
intruding  head,  after  which  a  voice  saluted  us  with  a  "  Good 
day,"  following  it  up  with  this  most  important  scrap  of  specula- 
tion : 

"  I  do  think  that  the  storm  that  was  predicted  for  to-morrow 
has  arrived,  a  portion  of  it,  to-day." 

**Well,  I  think  so,  too,"  replied  Dick,  as  he  gave  my  toes 
an  unmerciful  squeeze  with  his  foot. 

"  Oh,  you  heathen,"  I  yelled. 

"  Eh,  what  did  you  say  ?"  enquired  the  white  tie. 

^'/fe  was  only  referring  to  some  particulars  of  his  sketch," 


PEMBROKESHIEE  SKETCH  BOOK.  43 

explained   my  heathenish  brother,  with  just  the  ghost  of  a 
comical  smile  flitting  about  the  comers  of  his  mouth. 

After  treating  us  to  some  further  edifying  remarks,  clothed 
in  slightly  theological  language,  our  art-critic  number  two 
went  his  way. 

Dick  roared,  out  laughing,  **  Queer  creatures,  some  of  these 
natives,  eh,  old  fellow,"  said  he.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  our 
friend  is  the  identical  preacher  who  bent  himself  to  the  com- 
prehension of  his  congregation  by  announcing  one  Sunday  from 
his  pulpit  that  *  after  the  conclushon  there  will  be  a  gatherashun, 
and  that  gatherashun  shall  be  for  the  home-mishon.  The 
gentlemen  will  now  go  round  with  the  tobs.'  "  This  made  it 
my  tium  to  laugh. 

The  rain  proved,  however,  to  be  but  a  passing  sprinkling ; 
and,  having  finished  my  sketch,  we  retraced  our  steps  across 
the  bridge,  and  again  entered  the  castle  grounds.  Here, 
witliin  the  stone  fence  on  the  upper  side  of  the  old  cross,  was 
taken  the  sketch  of  the  front  portion  of  the  castle.  This  done, 
we  made  our  way  to  our  inn,  where  we  sat  down  to  a  good 
honest  dinner,  which,  with  the  best  of  home-brewed  ales,  was 
transformed  by  ai)petite  bom  of  our  out-door  occupation  into  a 
bancjuet  fit  for  the  gods.  We  had  scarcely  finished  our  repast 
when  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  our  landlady  entered : 

**  There  is  a  gentleman  downstairs,  sir,"  she  said,  addressing 
me,  **  who  is  to  stay  with  us  to-night.  Have  you  any  objection 
to  his  sitting  with  you  in  this  room  ?" 

"  None  in  the  least,"  I  replied ;  "  let  him  come  up." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  stranger  was  shown  in.  He  was  a 
nice,  jolly  fellow,  of  some  thirty  or  thirty-five  summers,  who 
was  making  a  walking  tour  through  the  county,  collecting 
tales  and  traditions  from  every  possible  trustworthy  source.  In  an 
incredibly  short  space  of  time  we  were  exchanging  confidences. 
We  showed  him  our  sketches  of  the  castle.  "  Ah,  I  too,"  said 
he,  **  am  an  amateur  artist,  and  have  sketched  the  same  old 
rains  from  every  possible  stand-point.  The  sight  of  your 
sketches  makes  me  remember  a  queer  exj)erience  I  had  last 
time  I  was  in  these  parts.  It  has  to  do  with  the  castle,  and 
might  possibly  interest  you." 

We  begged  him  to  favour  us  by  narrating  it. 

**  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  you  have  finished  your  da/s  work,  and 
have  nothing  better  to  do  than  listen,  I  will  tell  it  you ;  but,  I 
warn  you  at  the  commencement,  it  is  a  long  story." 

Dick  and  I  straightway  lit  up  our  pipes  and  settled  down 
into  a  listening  attitude.  And  this  is  the  story  the  stranger 
told: 

^  It  was  evening,  about  three  years  ago,  and  I  sat  in  front 
of  the  old  castle,  oat  there,  in  a  dreamy  mood.  T\v^  tooVa 
were  g(Ang  to  their  rest  in  the  neighbouring  trees,  an^  VJei^ 


44  PEMBROKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK. 

shadows  were  silently  stealing  about  the  ivy-hung  ruins. 
Satisfied  with  what  sketching  I  had  done  during  the  day,  I 
drew  together  my  colours  and  brushes  and  prepared  to  return  to 
the  inn.  But  the  stillness  of  the  evening,  with  its  subdued 
rural  sounds,  and  its  scents  of  new-mown  hay  and  wild  flowers, 
caused  me  to  throw  myself  on  the  grass  in  a  gentle  reverie,  in 
which  scenes  long  gone  by  came  back,  some  with  the  hallowed- 
ness  and  refinement  of  the  past,  others  with  the  every-day 
reality  of  events  just  happening.  Again  came  the  country 
parsonage,  my  white-haired  mother,  my  reverend  father,  and 
his  prayers  as  opposed  to  my  wishes.  Again  I  saw  the  artist's 
studio,  which  should  have  been  the  university,  and  the  velveteen 
and  sketch-book  which  ruthlessly  pushed  aside  the  intended 
gown  and  sermon.  One  other  thing,  alas,  I  also  had  a  renewed 
glimpse  of — the  sorrow  I  could  not  drive  away,  and  which 
ended  in  two  fond  parents  resting  together  in  one  silent  grave, 
leaving  me  alone  in  the  world. 

"  The  sun  went  down  in  the  west,  and  twilight  touched  me 
with  her  mantle,  bidding  me  leave  my  musings  and  live  a  full 
life  in  the  present  and  the  future.  Obedient,  I  rose,  shook  off 
the  past,  and  busied  myself  with  all  that  was  common])lace  in 
the  present.  I  even  descended  so  low  as  to  ask  myself,  with  all 
due  consideration  for  ray  own  comfort,  why  I  should  go  to  the 
trouble  of  carrying  my  sketching  materials  into  the  village,  only 
to  lug  them  back  again  in  the  morning.  *  Surely,'  I  said  to 
myself,  *the  natives  of  this  quiet  Catskill  region  are  honest,  and 
if  I  can  find  a  dry  nook  in  the  ruins,  I  will  leave  my  belongings 
there  'till  the  morning.'  The  *dry  nook'  was  by  no  means 
difficult  to  find,  and  I  was  soon  rid  of  my  burden. 

'  And  noble  lordi),  and  ladies  fair, 
Lie  now  in  dust : 
Ah  !  noble  lordH,  of  all  your  Hwords 
Naught  now  remains  but  rust* 

This  was  part  of  the  old  ballad  I  repeated  as  I  stood  in  the 
ancient  courtyard,  on  my  way  from  the  hiding-place  I  had  just 
found.  1  looked  up  at  the  mutilated  windows,  at  which  fair 
fiEkces  and  manly  forms  had  often  appeared.  I  pleased  myself 
with  the  thought  that  the  retainers,  old  and  grizzled,  had  no 
power  to  refuse  me  entrance  to  their  lord's  domain.  Like 
Gibbon  at  Bome,  amid  ruins  I  pondered  over  the  uncertainty  of 
all  things,  and  half  exulted  at  my  own  kingship  over  the  ideas 
and  existences  of  the  i)ast.  I  whisi)ered  to  myself  proudly, 
*  I  am — they  were.^ 

"  But  the  twilight,  deepening  into  night,  beckoned  me  back 
from  the  past ;  and,  as  a  necessary  result,  I  again  became  sober 
and  prosaic  in  the  extreme,  and  keenly  alive  to  all  the  trifles 
surroujiriHMBp*  I  noticed,  a  little  above  my  head,  the  peculiar 
cii]n>^^^^^BHeBve8  which  to  an  observant  eye  is  sufficient 


PE^IBROKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK.  45 

indication  of  the  presence  of  an  owl's  nest.  The  clipped  leaves 
run  up  in  a  zigzag  direction,  and  three  hands  distant  above 
where  this  peculiarity  ceases  you  will  be  sure  to  find  the 
opening  to  the  home  of  the  night-bird.  I  remembered  the 
boast  only  that  day  made  by  *  mine  host  of  the  inn,'  that  the 
two  stuffed  owls  in  his  parlour  were  the  largest  ever  caught  in 
the  neighbourhood.  Why  not  rival  him  ?  There  was  clearly  a 
nest  above,  and  it  undoubtedly  lodged  one  of  the  feathered 
screechers.  Why  not  blindfold  the  bird  before  his  dreams 
ceased  and  he  came  out  from  his  sleep  to  his  midnight  pranks  ? 

**  Making  what  I  thought  a  tolerably  correct  estimate  as  to 
the  steps  to  be  taken  to  get  to  the  nest,  I  commenced  my 
ascent.  Now  up  broken  steps,  now  through  some  old  doorway 
out  upon  a  dilapidated  panii)et,  then  a  moment's  careful  con- 
sideration and  on  again.  I  found  myself  soon  in  what  I 
conceived  to  be  the  most  perfect  part  of  the  castle  ;  stone  rested 
on  stone  undisturbed  and  complete  as  when  first  placed  there 
by  the  master-hand  centuries  ago. 

**  It  became  at  last  evident  that  I  had  wandered  far  from  the 
object  of  my  search,  having  taken  some  wrong  turn  in  the  fast 
growing  darkness.  So  I  seated  myself  on  a  ledge  of  one  of  the 
wat<;h-towers  to  wait  the  rising  of  the  moon,  and  thought  of  the 
hoary  archer  who  had  often  stood  tliere  in  the  gloaming, 
straining  his  eyes  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  queen  of  the 
night. 

**  A  bat  flew  by  me,  all  hurry  and  skurry  to  get  nowhere  for 
nothing ;  then  followed  a  weird,  creeping  silence,  broken  at 
length  by  the  lowing  of  some  distant  cattle ;  then  stillness 
prevailed  again.  *No  tobacco;  just  like  my  confounded  ill-luck,' 
I  grumbled  to  myself  after  a  diligent  but  useless  search  in  all 
my  pockets  for  Baleigh's  comforter. 

"  I  was  beginning  to  tire  of  waiting  thus  monotonously  for  the 
coming  of  the  moon,  when  an  unexpected  interruption  occurred. 
Broken  sounds  came  to  my  ears,  as  if  someone  in  the  distance 
were  declaiming  passages  of  some  poetic  playwright,  after  the 
manner  of  Gavazzi's  rendering  of  Macbeth  with  Banquo's  ghost. 
'Ah!'  thought  I,  ^a  benighted  companion  amusing  himself 
iriih  some  immortal  dramatist.  A  praiseworthy  occupation, 
certainly;  but  Baleigh  would  suit  me  better  than  Shakspeare 
just  now/ 

^  I  moved  a  little  in  the  direction  of  the  sounds,  and  was 
surprised  to  find  with  every  step  I  gave  how  greatly  the  apparent 
distance  diniiDished.  The  comparative  solidity  of  some  of  the 
old  walls  had  undoubtedly  caused  the  voice  to  appear  to  come 
from  a  much  greater  distance  than  it  really  did.  After  creeping 
on  all-foiirs  through  one  of  the  long,  narrow  passages,  I  caught 
sight  off  a  dim,  uncertain  light  struggling  through  a  crevice  in 


46  PEMBROKESHIEE  SKETCH  BOOK. 

the  wall  before  me.  I  could  also  distinctly  hear  the  voice;  but, 
instead  of  reciting  portions  of  Shakspeare,  it  had  a  swing  of 
majesty  about  it,  as  if  it  uttered  personal  commands. 

"  *  So,  after  all,  it  has  a  tinge  of  mystery  about  it.  Think  of 
a  night-adventure  in  Carew  Castle,'  I  said  to  myself,  and  all  my 
love  of  out-of-the-way  exj^eriences  gathered  itself  together  and 
bade  me  go  on. 

"  Noiselessly  I  advanced  in  the  direction  of  the  light,  and  in 
a  few  moments  found  myself  the  spectator  of  a  sight  I  shall  not 
easily  forget.  I  may  attempt  to  describe  it,  but  the  thoughts 
which  flooded  my  mind,  and  the  mixed  feelings  that  ^>ossessed 
my  heart  as  I  stood  in  front  of  the  doorway  of  that  narrow 
chamber,  can  never  be  imparted  to  others  through  the  medium 
of  words.  I  had  seen  the  miracles  of  modem  spiritualism,  had, 
in  fact,  been  Katie-Kinged  times  without  number;  but  so 
unexpected  was  the  sight  I  here  witnessed,  so  strange  and 
romantic  the  surroundings,  so  distant  the  least  suspicion  of 
trickery,  that  all  my  former  experiences,  compared  with  what  I 
then  beheld,  were  as  ants  in  the  presence  of  an  elephant. 

"  A  small  lamp  rested  in  a  niche  formed  by  the  falling  of  a 
gtone  from  the  wall,  and  gave  out  a  sickly  blue  light  which 
failed  to  illumine  the  whole  room,  small  as  it  was.  In  the 
centre  of  the  floor  lay  a  slab  of  marble  white  as  the  driven  snow, 
upon  which  were  traced  geometrical  figures  of  various  dimen- 
sions, all  of  which  I  noticed  were  enclosed  in  a  large  circle. 
Slightly  bending  over  this  slab  stood  the  presiding  genius.  A 
long  cloak  enveloped  his  entire  figure,  and  gave  to  it  an  air  of 
majesty.  His  beard  was  long  and  white,  and  a  massive 
uncovered  brow  reflected  the  hue  of  the  marble,  so  pale  and 
cold  it  looked. 

"  As  I  stood  there,  breathlessly  watching  this  unknown  being, 
he  bent  still  lower  over  the  slab,  and,  with  a  hazel-rod  in  his 
hand,  msg-ked  out  other  figures  strange  and  curious  in  device  ; 
triangles  he  inscribed  in  squares,  having  a  like  base  ;  then,  with 
a  weird  fantastic  flourish,  he  brought  out  a  circle  which  enclosed 
all  his  straight  lines,  and  apparently  completed  his  problem. 
A  sudden  motion  ensued,  and  the  geometrician  stood  erect,  and, 
with  eyes  flashing  fire,  vigorously  commanded  some  unseen 
power  to  appear.  The  form  of  his  command  has  often  since 
then  occurred  to  me  ;  and  I  have  seen  that  firm,  erect  figure, 
heavily  draped,  standing  out  in  the  dim  light,  and  casting  an 
exaggerated  shadow  over  against  the  wall,  far  oftener  than  I 
like  to  confess  to  those  who  consider  me  the  very  personification 
of  thoughtless  bravery.  These  were  the  words  uttered  by  the 
strange  voice : 

"  '  In  the  name  of  Him  in  whom  we  live,  move,  and  have 
our  being,  I  command  and  bind  thee,  Spirit  of  Power,  in  this 


PEIIBEOKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK.  47 

place,  for  this  night,  to  become  affable  and  visible  before  thi» 
circle.  Delay  not — prepare  thyself,  and  be  obedient  to  thy 
master.' 

"  When  he  had  thrice  uttered  this  command,  the  enchanter 
took  down  the  little  lamp  from  its  resting-place  in  the  wall,  and 
set  it  in  the  centre  of  the  marble  slab ;  then  into  its  flame  lie 
cast  some  powder  of  (what  appeared  to  me)  a  greenish  hue. 
The  flame  deepened  and  leaped  up  wildly  thrice,  as  if  it  would 
pierce  the  ceiling,  then  sank  back  disappointed  and  fatigued. 
A  peculiar  scent-laden  smoke  now  followed  the  flame,  and  curled 
gracefully  upwords.  Then  a  thin,  tissue-like  mist  took  its  place, 
and  gradually  gprew  and  formed  itself  until  it  roughly  resembled 
a  human  figure.  This  misty  covering  then  divided  and  dropped 
back,  leaving  the  entire  form  of  an  aged  man  standing  before 
the  piece  of  marble,  motionless  and  anxious  as  a  prisoner 
awaiting  his  sentence. 

*'  Standing  there,  outside  the  mysterious  chamber,  I  moved 
in  the  darkness  to  assure  mjself  of  my  own  being,  and  felt 
about  noiselessly,  drawing  my  fingers  over  the  old  mortar  and 
stones  to  get  proof,  by  contact  with  something,  that  I  dreamed 
not,  but  was,  indeed,  my  waking  self. 

"  The  voice  of  the  magician  continued  :  "  I  have  summoned 
thee  now,  for  the  third  time,  0  Spirit,  reigning  here  in  this  dis- 
mantled tenement ;  and,  according  to  the  laws  which  are  binding 
upon  thee  and  thy  brethren,  I  command  thee  to  si)eak — Thy 
name,  and  canst  thou  help  me  ?     If  not,  who  can  ?' 

**  The  cold  and  bloodless  lips  moved,  and  in  reply  I  heard 
faintly  uttered : 

**  *  John  Carew — No — To-morrow,  at  midnight,  one  shall  come 
who  has  the  will  to  aid  thee.     I^et  me  return  to  my  rest.' 

**  The  voice  of  the  enchanter  rose  again  : 

"  *  In  the  name  of  Him  in  whom  we  live,  and  move,  and  have 
our  being,  I  dismiss  from  this  circle  the  unearthed  spirit 
of  John  Carew.     Return  to  thy  rest.' 

**  The  mist  now  gathered  around  the  visitant  from  the  other 
land,  and  died  away  into  the  curling  smoke,  which  returned  to 
the  life  of  the  flame,  and  we  were  alone — inside  the  chamber  he 
who  possessed  the  power  thus  to  command  spirits  ;  and  outside 
I,  a  roving,  careless,  good-for-nothing,  brought  by  chance  to  the 
very  cave  of  mystery;  I  stood  absorbed  and  wondering.  In  a 
moment  a  canvas  covering  was  laid  upon  the  marble,  and  the 
rubbish  swept  back  upon  the  canvas  until  the  place  looked  just 
a  simple,  ruinous  apartment,  like  so  many  others  in  the  old 
building.  I  was  moving  away  out  of  possible  observation  as 
quickly  and  silently  as  I  could,  when  the  light  of  the  lamp 
fell  foil  upon  my  face,  as  its  owner  hurriedly  left  the  chamber. 
Our  eyes  met;  but,  instead  of  an  utterance  of  vexation  at 


48  PEMBROKESHIEE   SKETCH    BOOK. 

finding  he  had  been  thus  watched,  my  strange  companion 
merely  said : 

"  *  Sly  sympathies  told  me  some  human  being  was  near.  Will 
you  avail  yourself  of  my  light  to  find  your  way  out  ?' 

"  I  muttered  some  hasty  thanks  and  tangled  apologies,  and 
foUowed  my  guide,  whose  knowledge  of  the  place  made  itself 
evident  by  the  sureness  of  his  steps,  through  numerous  chambers 
and  passages,  until  at  length  we  were  in  the  courtyard. 

"  *  Good  night.  Come  and  pay  me  a  visit  to-morrow,'  he  said, 
and  I  was  alone  with  a  little  glazed  card  in  my  hand,  watching 
his  retreating  figure  as  he  went  out  into  the  moonlight  in  the 
direction  opposite  the  village." 

(To  be  continued.) 


WELSH   ORIGINS   OF   LATIN   PLACE-NAMES. 


ARTICLE    I. 

An  edition  of  London  University  ]\Iatriculation  Papers,  con- 
taining the  questions  set  for  candidates  for  litemry  honours  in 
the  examinations  of  last  June,  together  "  with  translations, 
answers  and  solutions,"  has  appeared  several  months  ago.  The 
editor  is  Stephane  Barlet,  B.Sc,  Univ.  Gall.,  Undergraduate  in 
the  University  of  London,  Examiner  to  the  College  of  Preceptors, 
&c.  Although  the  previous  editions  of  examination  jmpers  by 
Mons.  Barlet  were  very  creditably  executed  and  neatly  turned 
out^  yet  this  greatly  excels  them.  One  great  improvement  and 
convenience  of  the  present  number  is  that,  while  at  the 
beginning  of  the  book  the  extracts  for  translation  and  the 
«|uestions  to  be  answered  are  given,  in  the  succeeding  portion  of 
it  every  question  or  problem  immediately  precedes  its  appro- 
priate answer  or  solution,  so  that  both  are  brought  at  once 
under  the  eye  of  the  reader.  Although  this  swells  the  book, 
yet  the  advantage  given  the  student  doubly  pays  for  it. 

The  examinations  comprise  the  I^tin,  Greek,  French, 
German  and  English  languages,  arithmetic,  algebra,  geometry, 
history,  geography,  natural  philosophy  and  chemistry.  Any 
candidate  who  makes  himself  conversant  with  all  the  solutions 
in  every  department  of  these  examination  papers,  and  well 
studies  the  very  valuable  list  of  books  that  is  given  at  the  end 
— ^which  books  contain  answers  to  all  the  questions  that  have 
been  set  at  the  London  University  examinations  for  the  last 
fifty  years — ^need  not  fail  to  obtain  a  degree. 

While  Mons.  Barlet's  translation  of  the  extracts  set  from 
livy's  Latin  and  Homer's  Greek  is  very  creditable,  showing  an 
aim  at  literal  rendering,  rather  than  at  smooth  English  composi- 
tion, his  translation  of  the  pieces,  set  from  the  French  and 
German,  displays  a  masterly  acquaintance  with  the  genius  and 
idioms  of  each  of  these  useful  tongues.  The  doctors,  professors 
and  other  learned  men  who  wrote  the  papers  set  for  examina- 
ticm  have,  however,  done  so  in  rather  loose  and  objectionable 
Tg"gli«^i  and  in  ambiguous  terms.  Of  course,  it  was  not  the 
piovinoe  of  M.  Barle^  in  compUing  the  book,  eithei  to  coTtecX 

D 


r>0       WELSH  ORIGINS  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES. 

or  alter  the  wording  of  these  papers,  but  to  give  them  as  they 
had  been  set,  and  answer  the  questions  they  asked,  or  work  the 
problem  they  required.  But,  in  learned  men  who  engage  in 
examining  the  learning  of  others,  accurate  expression,  at  least  in 
the  English  language,  is  to  be  expected.  ^lore  especially,  when 
asking  questions  concerning  that  language,  should  such  ques- 
tions be  written  so  as  to  be  free  from  vulgar  grammatical 
errors — should,  in  a  word,  be  a  pattern  to  those  who  are  tt>  be 
examined.  For  instance,  the  learned  examiners  in  the  English 
language  and  history,  ask  "  How  many  vowel-sounds  are  used 
in  speaking  the  English  ?  which  are  they  ?"  and  "  Which  were 
the  principal  measures  concerning  religion  in  the  reign  of 
Edward  VI  ?"  It  needs  not  l3e  remarked  that  ^vhat^  not  which, 
should  have  been  used  in  both  these  instances.  Which^  as  an 
interrogative,  always  imjjlies  the  idea  of  distinction,  or  selection 
of  a  definite  number  out  of  an  indefinite  one,  either  expressed 
or  understood;  as.  Which  book,  or  which  of  these  books  do 
you  want?  ^'What  book  do  you  want,"  is  a  more  indefinite 
expression,  as  to  the  number  from  which  the  book  is 
to  be  selected.  Indeed,  it  would  appear  that  it  is  precisely 
this  distinction  the  examiners  require  to  be  made  when 
they  request  (p.  28)  "  the  grammatical  use  of  the  words, 
thaty  V)hich  and  xohat "  to  be  discussed,  and  receive  the  reply 
that  the  interrogative,  ivhich  asks  for  one  out  of  a  definite 
number,  and  what  asks  indefinitely.  But,  in  writing,  "  How 
many  vowel-sounds  are  used  in  speaking  English  ?  which  are 
they  ?"  there  is  no  definite  number  previously  or  subsequently 
mentioned,  or  even  understood ;  for  there  are  no  other 
than  vowel-sounds  in  any  language.  Consonants  have  no 
sound  in  themselves.  Nobody  can  utter  one  of  the  English 
consonants  without  uttering  a  vowel,  or  say,  for  exami)le,  c, 
without  sounding  e.  How  devoid  of  sense,  therefore,  is  the 
question, "  Which  are  the  vowel  sounds  ?  How  easy  it  would  have 
been  to  employ  the  right  interrogative,  ivhaty  in  both  the 
instances  under  notice. 

Again,  the  language  used  by  the  examiners  in  many 
instances,  although  not  utterly  ungrammatical,  is  mean.  We 
meet  with  such  expressions  as  *'  Tell  what  you  know  ";  "  Tell 
the  history  ";  **  To  what  use  was  it  attempted  by  Charles  II.  to 
put  to  ?'  &c.  Here  the  examiners  use  verbs  transitive  and 
intransitive,  active  and  passive,  indiscrimately.  One  would 
think  that  they  sojourned  in  some  foreign  land  when  they 
wrote  the  following  question : — "  When  did  the  Danes  first  land 
in  England,  and  when  did  they  begin  to  settle  there  ?" 

The   examiners  in  geometry  have  a  very  peculiar  mode  of 

putting  their  problems,  which  is  at  variance  with  Euclid  and 

othMjMHlteoks :  such  as — ^^  //  a  quadrilateral  be  circumscribed 

^^^^^^^Ktlftwe  that  the  sum  of  one  pair  of  its  opposite  sides 


WELSH  ORIGINS  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES.       51 

i^  equal  to  the  sum  of  the  other  pair."  This  iueongruent  and 
ungnunmatical  sentence  needs  no  comment.  Such,  however,  is 
the  imintelligible  form  in  which  most  of  the  questions  are  put, 
both  in  geometr}'  and  natural  philosophy.  In  chemistry  they 
are  plainly  stated. 

M.  Barlet  has  answered  all  the  questions,  in  every  depart- 
ment, very  lucidly  and  elaborately.  In  many  of  them  he 
ap}>ears  to  have  had  to  depend  entirely  on  his  own  resources  ;  for 
the  problems  seem  to  be  such  as  were  not  to  be  answered  by  the 
help  of  books.  He  has  very  hap])ily  epitomized  his  answers, 
IKirticularly  in  history,  where  he  has  as  much  in  a  few  sentences 
as  we  get  sometimes  in  several  pages.  But  it  is  difficult  to 
perceive  the  correctness  of  his  etymology  touching  the  deriva- 
tion of  the  following  names  of  places,  which  he  adduces  to  show 
the  introduction  of  a  Latin  element  into  English.  He  tells  us 
that  the  Bomans  introduced  Latin  words  into  this  language 
during  the  400  years  they  remained  in  this  country.  But  there 
was  neither  English  nor  Saxon  spoken  in  Britain  during 
the  stay  of  the  Komans,  nor  for  a  considerable  time  after  their 
departure. 

M.  Barlet  maintains  that  the  name,  Chester^  is  from  the 
I^tin  caatray  a  camp,  but  this  is  scarcely  tenable.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  there  was  a  Koman  camp  at  Chester ;  but  the 
(juestion  is  whether  the  name,  Chester,  comes  from  the  common 
word  caatrUy  by  which  it  is  said  the  Komans  called  every  one  of 
their  numerous  camps.  That  it  does  come  is  a  mere  conjecture, 
foimded  on  some  similarity  in  sound,  but  unsupported  by  other 
facts.  Chester  was  a  fortified  city,  or  caery  long  before  the 
Koman  invasion,  and  afterwards  defended  against  them  for  nine 
years  by  the  brave  Caractacus  (Caradawc),  who  was  conquered 
by  Ostoris,  when  this  city  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Komans. 
Richard  of  Cirencester,  a  I^tin  writer  of  the  14th  century 
(Hist.  Briton.),  calls  the  colony  established  here  Deva,  from  the 
river  Dee,  and  seems  to  think  that  the  name,  Chester,  is  from 
Victrix.  He  says :  "  Near  the  Deva  was  the  Koman  colony, 
Deva,  the  work  of  the  twentieth  legion,  which  was  called  Vidrix, 
This  place  is  supposed  to  be  what  is  nowtermtni  West  Chester." 
He  also  says  that  the  city  was  anciently  called  Devana,  from  the 
River  Dee.  This  ancient  place,  however,  was  called  by  the 
Britons,  both  before  the  coming  and  after  the  de})arture  c»f  the 
Romans,  CiurMion  Vawr  (Caer-llion  the  Great,  in  contra- 
distinction to  Caer-llion-ar-Wysg  (Caer-leen) ;  also  Caei'-llion" 
ar-'Ddyvrdwy  (Caer-llion  on  the  Dee).  It  was  the  Saxons,  when 
it  came  to  their  hands,  that  first  used  the  word  caeetei*  in  its 
namejnstas  they  used  it  in  the  names  of  scores  of  other  castellated 
or  fortified  places.  TheycallediiLcegeHuiester  sxtdLcegan-caesterj 
from  Ube^  a  pool,  and  coes^er,  a  fortified  city ;  meaning  pteci^eV^ 
the  aune  as  weBritiab  llion  and  caet'  in  the  foregoing  CeVtVeii^AXie^ 

d2 


52       WELSH  OEIGINS  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAJIES. 

as  we  shall  see  more  plainly  anon.  The  supposition  that  the 
modem  name,  Chester,  is  from  the  Latin  castra  has  arisen  from 
the  mistake  that  castra  is  synonymous  with  the  Saxon  caester  ; 
but  the  former  means  only  a  tent,  a  camp,  or  encampment, 
while  the  latter  signifies  a  city  or  town.  Bosworth  (Anglo- 
Sax.  Diet.),  under  the  word,  says,  "  a  city,  a  fort,  castle,  town." 
Caeatei'  is  evidently  composed  of  caest  or  ceas,  strife,  battle, 
contest,  and  tei\  ioi\  or  tur^  a  tower,  as  ter  in  myns^e?',  or 
minsf^r,  which  always  had  a  tower  or  temple,  and  both  roots  are 
Celtic — ca«,  hatred,  envy,  and  tivr^  tower.  Hence  castell  with 
its  many  derivatives.  But  as  neither  the  Bomans  nor  the 
Saxons  could,  any  more  than  the  English  of  the  present  day  can 
pronounce  the  aspirated  I — //  or  Ih,  they  called  the  Celtic  word, 
castelly  castra,  caester,  &c. 

Lancaster*  is  another  word  claimed  by  our  author  for  the 
Latin;  but  much  of  what  has  already  been  said  of  Cheatei" 
applies  to  it.  Lancaster  is  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  and  on  the  bank 
of  the  formerly  navigable  river  Lune,  Lone,  or  Ix)n.  The 
Boman  station  here  was  called,  not  Lon-castra^  but  A-launa ; 
from  the  name  of  the  river  Lune,  or  Lone  meaning,  probably, 
in  the  Celtic  language,  llawn  (full,  ovei-flowing).  The  Saxons 
called  the  place  Luiicsester  and  Loncaester ;  and  it  was  they,  by 
building  a  monastery,  a  castle,  and  so  on,  liere,  that  made  it  of 
any  renown.  It  was  not  one  of  the  ancient  British  caers^  or 
fortified  cities;  and  during  the  time  of  the  Bomans,  it  did  not 
become  a  place  of  any  great  note.  It  is  mentioned  by  Antoninus 
and  Bichard  of  Cirencester,  in  the  itei^a^  as  a  place  at  which  the 
Boman  soldiers  halted  when  on  their  marches.  The  Scots,  who 
destroyed  the  town  and  castle  built  by  the  Anglo-Saxons,  called 
the  place  Loncaatell.  The  Welsh,  some  years  after,  called  it 
Caer-weryd;  but  its  present  name  is  that  given  it  by  the 
Saxons. 

Stratford  is  the  next  name  which  our  author  tells  us  that 
comes  from  the  Latin  strata^  meaning  a  street,  a  paved  highway. 
But  strata  or  stratxim  can  hardly  be  said  to  mean  a  street  or 
paved  highway.  It  rather  signifies  a  bed,  a  layer,  a  covering, 
etc.  The  viarxim  strata  of  the  Bomans,  which  expression 
appears  not  to  have  been  used  by  any  writer  extant  earlier  than 
Virgil  and  Suetonius,  in  the  works  of  each  of  whom  it  occurs, 
written  at  the  time  when  the  Bomans  had  had  a  degree  of 
acquaintance  with  the  Celtic  language,  is  likely  enough  to  have 
been  derived,  so  far  as  the  word  strata  goes,  in  the  sense  used 
here,  from  that  much  more  ancient,  and,  at  the  time,  much 
more  copious  language,  in  which  its  root  was  used  precisely  in 
this  sense,  and  is  so  used  to  the  present  day,  as  we  shall  see 
directly.  This  is  rendered  still  more  likely  by  the  fact  that 
there  are  in  the  Latin,  even  to  this  day,  hundreds  of  words 
which  ^flMnygly  Celtic.     It  is  rather  strange  that  the  Bomans, 


WELSH  ORIGINS  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES.       53 

while  ill  Britain,  clesignateil  a  causeway  by  the  word  strata, 
whereas,  before  and  after,  they  were  content  to  represent  the 
mnne  thing  by  such  words  as  veluiy  pnvtorla,  platea,  vicus, 
sfnuia.  His,  etc.  But  there  is  another  difficulty  in  making 
Sfntt/(yi'd  a  Latin  term,  namely,  the  word  ford,  a  way,  a  passage. 
It  is  trusted  that  it  will  not  l)e  contended  that  this  also  is  a 
l^tin  word  ;  otherwise  the  meaning  would  be  made  a  stredway, 
or  paved  passaf/e.  However,  the  name  Stratford  is 
undoubtedly  conn)Osed  of  the  Celtic  words  ysfrad  'dndffordd, 
Vstrad  means  a  vale,  a  dale,  a  valley  formed  by  the  course 
of  a  river,  along  winch  there  is  generally  a  road ;  and 
tfordd  means  a  way,  or  passage,  from  which  is  derived  the 
Anglo-Saxon  woixi  ford,  now,  by  usits  loqueadi,  confined  to 
the  signification  of  a  place  in  a  river  shallow  enough  to  be  crossed 
on  foot  by  man  or  beast.  There  were  anciently  in  Britain,  a 
gi-eat  many  valleys  alorifj  which  there  xvere  roads,  called  by 
the  name  ystrad,  and  distinguished  from  one  another  by  some 
appropriate  sufiix,  or  an  additional  name ;  and  there  are  still 
in  Wjilesa  considerable  number  so  called;  as  Vstrad-Dyfodawg 
(now  Rhondda  Valley),  Ystrad-Ty^i  (the  Vale  of  Tywi),  Ystrad- 
Fflur  (Strata  Florida),  Ystrad-Clwyd,  Ystrad-Yw,  Ystrad- 
Meiric,  Ystrad-(jynlais,  Ystrad-Mynach,  &c. 

There  are  likewise  in  England  a  gieat  number  of  places 
belonging  to  valleys,  into  the  names  of  which  the  Celtic  word 
ystrad  enters ;  as — 5<ra^-field -Mortimer,  Stmtfield-Saye,  Strat- 
field-Turgis,  Stratford  St.  Andrews,  Stratford  St.  Anthony, 
Stratford  le  Bow,  Stratfoid  Fenny,  Stratford  St.  Mary,  Old 
Stratford,  Stony  Stratford,  Stratford  1 -.an gt  home,  and  last,  but 
not  least,  Stratford-on-Avon.  The  Romans  never  gave  such 
names  to  these  places.  The  same  (Vltic  word,  modified  into 
Strath,  is  found  in  the  names  of  a  number  of  places  in  Scotland, 
as  Strath-Aven  (valley  of  the  river  or  brook),  Strath-Naveni 
(valley  of  the  Navem),  Strath-Clyde  (\alley  of  the  Clyde), 
Strath-Bolgy  (valley  of  the  Bolgy),  Strath-Doveme,  &c. 

Comments  on  the  rest  of  the  names  which  our  author 
claims  for  the  Jjatin  must  be  deferred  to  a  subsequent  notice  of 
his  learned  work. 

I.  G. 


A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE. 


The  Bill  authorising  the  construction  of  the  Great  Cambrian 
Central  and  Coast  l^ilway  had,  escorted  by  t  lie  good  wishes  of 
the  majority  of  the  population  of  the  Principality,  passed 
triumphantly  through  both  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  the 
immediate  consequence  to  me  personally  was,  that  the  eminent 
firm  of  contractors,  Barrow  and  Spade,  whom  I  had  for  some  time 
served  at  a  rate  of  remuneration,  perhaps,  better  suited  to  my 
deserts  than  to  my  desires,  summoned  me  into  the  inner  oflSce, 
and  announced  to  me  my  appointment  as  engineer  to  the 
Aberpergwm  and  Penycoed  section.  Old  Barrow  knew  my 
family  intimately,  and  after  I  had  afhxed  my  sign  manual  to  the 
agreement  on  his  desk,  he  remarked,  knowingly :  "  You'll  find  it  a 
quiet  sort  of  shop  :  but,  if  all  I  hear  is  true,  you  won't  be  lonely 
there  very  long."  I  coidd  blush  in  those  days,  and  did  so,  for 
the  old  gentleman  had  hit  the  right  nail  on  the  head.  The 
increased  salary  and  term  of  agreement  would,  I  knew,  remove 
the  purely  prudential  oi)ix)sition  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Davies,  of 
Pencoch,  to  my  aspirations  to  the  hand  of  their  charming 
daughter,  Jessie. 

I  spare  the  reader  a  detailed  account  of  the  negociations  and 
my  emotions  during  the  first  six  months  of  my  new  work  on  the 
line.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  at  the  close  of  that  period  I  had 
determined  on  fixing  my  head-quarters  definitely  at  Llantrisant, 
a  small  village,  where  the  only  difiicult  ])art  of  the  work  lay, 
and  that  I  had  gained  the  jmrental  consent  t(»  engage  Miss  Jessie 
as  a  permanent  housekeeper.  First,  however,  J  had  to  get  a 
house ;  and,  owing  to  the  limited  area  of  the  ground  and  choice 
of  the  game,  I  found  that  delightful  sport,  house  hunting, 
whose  commencement  or  ending  no  almanac  marks,  and  which 
knows  no  "close"  time,  less  arduous  than  I  have  since  dis- 
covered it  to  be  cajiable  of  proving  itself. 

The  village  was  four  miles  from  the  county  town,  and  had 
grouped  itself  at  an  intersection  of  roads  leading  into  the  wilder 
hill  country.  It  had  a  straggling  street,  whose  houses,  of  all 
sizes^  though  chiefly  small,  turned  backs  or  fronts,  apparently  at 


A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEAKANCT:.  .3.> 

will,  to  the  road.  It  was  not  a  model  village — an  institution 
that  does  not  flourish  much  in  Wales;  but  there  was  a  c(M*tain 
well-tiMlo-ishness  about  its  hibouringpojmlation,  who  worked  in 
tlie(|uarries  in  the  neighbourhood,  that  manifested  itself  in  a 
fondness  for  pig-meat,  which  entailed  the  maintenance  of  a 
large  number  of  the  interesting,  but  highly  odorous,  animals 
whence  the  same  is  obtained.  Piggeries  consecpiently  adorned 
nearly  every  house,  the  combined  effect  being  to  a  stranger  a 
little  oveq)owering.  There  was  a imblic-house  at  each  end  of 
the  village,  and  two  in  the  middle,  being  one  to  each  hundred 
of  the  population  ;  but  the  ativent  of  the  small  army  of  navvies 
in  our  suite  soon  caused  the  ojiening  of  a  couple  more,  which 
claimed  a  share  of  the  prosperity  that  the  habits  of  the  new 
colonists  conferred  on  the  locul  beer-sellers.  We  boasted  two 
general  dealers,  who  had  sunk,  probably,  the  large  capital  of 
twenty  }X)unds  each  in  a  hetei-ogeneous  stock ;  consisting  of 
soap,  shirts,  hymn-books,  t<*a,  treacle,  tobacco,  and  tin-tacks, 
which  they  offered  to  the  public  at  a  ruinous  sacrifice. 

Strange  to  say,  there  were  two  houses  at  my  disposal — one  a 
four-roomed  cottage,  with  extensive  piggeries, and  covered  with 
climbing  monthly  roses  and  jessamine.  The  roof,  however,  was 
nither  defective,  its  walls  dam]>  and  interior  stuffy  ;  hence  Jessie 
wisely  declined  to  entertain  a  projKjsal  to  "  do  something  to  it," 
if  we  took  it,  and  merely  transferred  its  pictures(pie  presentment 
to  the  y>ages  of  her  sketch-book,  in  which  the  s<»nse  of  sight 
was  gratified,  and  that  of  sm<»ll  unoffended  by  the  vicinity  of 
the  neighbours'  pigsties.  The  other  house  was  ugly  enough, 
in  all  conscience.  A  sijuare,  flat,  staling  front  of  bare  rough 
stone;  a  door  between  two  windows,  and  three  other  windows 
above ;  just  such  a  house  as  may  be  st»en  in  any  Welsh  villagt* 
to-day,  unprepossessing  enough,  but  with  certain  arguments  in 
its  fiivour,  for  it  stood  outside  the  village  some  two  hundred 
yards,  and  was  tight,  habitable  and  fairly  roomy.  Of  course 
Jessie's  mamma,  who  came  over  from  Pencoch  to  inspect  it, 
discovered  it  to  be  deficient  in  some  hundred  conveniences, 
without  which  no  re8j>ectable  house  should  dan*  to  exist. 
Somehow  or  other,  however,  we  got  on  very  well  without  a  great 
many  of  them,  happy  in  each  other's  society,  tlu*  enjoyment  of 
good  health,  and,  as  far  as  regards  myself,  sufficiency  of  employ- 
ment oat-doors,  which  rendered  my  home  very  attractive  by 
the  end  of  each  day. 

llie  house  had  been  vacant  for  some  time ;  and,  to  explain 
how  Ruch  a  comparatively  desirable  residence  had  remained  so, 
it  is  necessary  to  turn  back  a  leaf  or  two  of  the  village 
chronicles.  It  had  been  occupied  by  a  Mr.  Tyndall,  steward  to 
Sir  Evui  Jenkins,  a  large  landowner  thereabouts.  TyndallV 
duties  would  have  been  more  conveniently  discharged  by 
residence  at  the  county  town,  where  the  more  impoTtawt  ^xV. 


56  A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE. 

of  the  estate  lay ;  but  the  accident  of  the  house  standing  upon 
the  Llantrisant  road,  coupled  with  a  ceitain  reserved  manner 
and  indisj)osition  to  general  society,  i>eculiar  to  the  man,  had 
induced  him  to  take  up  his  residence  at  that  place.  In  1858, 
two  years  previous  to  my  arrival,. Tyndall,  who  was  a  bachelor, 
and  whose  household  consisted  only  of  a  venerable  housekee^)er, 
of  surjirising  deafness,  had  received  a  large  sum,  amounting  to 
over  a  thousand  pounds,  for  produce,  timber  and  rent,  which 
money  he  was  seen  by  the  housekeeper  to  deposit  in  a  canvas 
bag,  and  then  in  a  small  leather  travelling  bag,  for  the  purpose 
of  conveying  it  that  night  to  the  strong  room  at  Plas  Vawr, 
where  Sir  Evan  resided.  On  her  remarking  that  it  was  late, 
and  that  he  had  better,  as  usual,  keep  it  till  next  day,  and  pay 
it  into  the  bank  at  the  county  town,  he  replied  (through  a 
speaking  trumpet)  that  the  money  was,  strangely  enough,  all  in 
hard  cash,  and  that  he  did  not  care  to  keep  so  much  money 
about  the  house.  At  seven  o'clock  on  that  October  evening  he 
left  the  house  on  foot,  bearing  the  black  bag,  and,  up  to  the 
date  of  my  arrival,  had  not  been  seen  or  heard  of  again  by  any 
one  in  the  whole  district,  where,  though  not  ^K)pular,  he  was 
well  known. 

It  is,  perhaps,  needless  tx>  add  that  as  little  was  heard  of  the 
cash  which  he  had  with  him  ;  and,  coupling  this  with  the 
scrupulous  regularity  of  his  life,  and  the  mechanical  exactitude 
of  his  habits,  public  opinion,  in  default  of  precise  information, 
decided  that  the  honest  man  had  been  attacked,  murdered,  the 
cash  stolen  and  the  body  disposed  of — a  version  the  truth  of 
which  rested  chiefly  on  the  presence  at  that  time  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  certain  suspicious  characters,  two  of  whom  had 
been  seen,  on  the  day  succeeding  that  of  the  disappearance,  at 
the  village  l>eer-house  by  a  gamekeeper  of  Sir  Evan's,  who,  in 
winding  up  the  story  of  his  suspicions,  usually  remarked, "  Yess, 
indeed,  I  wass  see  somethin'  very  like  a  halfsov'rin  in  his  'an 
as  he  was  pay  Mrs.  Jones  for  what  they  wass  drink." 

And  so,  somehow,  the  house  got  a  bad  name.  Sir  Evan 
ordered  the  new  steward  to  reside  in  the  town,  and  folks  alx>ut 
the  village  were  shy  of  passing  there  after  dark ;  for,  although 
the  old  housekeeper  had  been  provided  for  elsewhere,  Davy 
Jenkins,  the  smith,  was  sure  he  had  seen  a  light  there  one 
Saturday  night,  and  heard  a  chinking  "  like  money  rattling," 
which  he  dared  not  remain  to  investigate.  D^vy,  it  is  true, 
on  Saturday  nights  was  frequently  in  a  state  which  rendered 
investigation  a  matter  rather  subjective  than  objective  ;  and  his 
wife,  while  giving  full  credence  to  his  tale,  was  bound  to 
admit  "  that  he  wass  have  too  much  that  night ;  and,  indeed, 
wass  only  tell  her  'bout  it  after  he  sleep  till  dinner-time  next 
<lay." 

Our  life  was  uneventful,  and,  as  long  as  the  fine  weather 


A  MYSTKKIOl'S  DISAPPEARANCE.  57 

lasted,  not  unenjoyable.  On  bright  days  Jessie  generally 
strolled  out  to  meet  me  on  my  return  from  that  part  of  the  line 
where  my  afternoon's  work  lay.  It  is  tnie  there  was  a  little 
society,  and  the  clergyman  and  the  doctor  and  some  half- 
4lozen  of  the  better  class  people  of  the  village  had  been  civil 
enough ;  but  at  that  time  we  were  fairly  inde]^)endent  of  the 
outer  world,  and  I  was  fully  occupied,  after  a  hard  day's  work 
out  of  doors,  in  brightening  up  the  neglected  garden,  and  in 
making  the  ugly  houst^  a  little  more  worthy  the  pair  of  turtle 
doves  who  had  built  their  nest  there. 

The  village  was  rather  out  of  the  world,  and  the  waves  of 
thought  which  agitaterl  that  world  usually  siink  to  rest  by  the 
time  they  reached  the  county  town,  and  nirely  broke  uj)on  the 
limits  of  Llantrisant.  Hence  the  new  ideas  of  table  turning 
and  spirit  rai)ping  were,  in  1860,  novelties  to  the  village 
|iopuIation.  In  the  autumn  of  that  year,  however,  a  member 
of  the  little  community  had  returned  from  a  visit  to  some 
friends  in  England,  in  the  course  of  which  she  ha<l  imbibed  the 
beliefs  which  constitute  modem  spiritualism,  and,  somehow,  had 
managed  to  instil  a  few  of  them  into  the  minds  of  several  of  the 
princii>al  residents.  The  parson,  an  easy-going  old  gentleman, 
whom  a  certain  Mrs.  Davies,  an  adherent  of  the  Calvinistic 
Methodists,  had  pronounced  most  unsound  in  doctrine,  had 
given  in  his  adhesion  to  the  doctrine  of  the  transmigration,  at 
the  will  of  some  half-educated  impostor,  of  the  spirits  of 
de]»arted  great  ones  into  the  legs  and  bodies  of  tables,  chairs, 
andfumiture  generally ;  giving  one,  by-the-bye,  an  ideA  that  they 
entertained  very  peculiar  notions  on  the  subject  of  furnished 
lodgings.  The  doctor  was  anything  but  a  teetotaller,  and  in 
the  evenings  was  rather  more  sceptical  than  at  other  times 
as  to  the  existence  of  any  other  spirits  than  those  he  had 
pre|iared  for  internal  exhibition  in  a  tumbler  with  hot  water  and 
sugar. 

The  chief  adherents  of  the  spiritualist  circle  consisted  of  the 
ladies,  and  especially  of  ceiiain  of  them  to  whom  the  epithet 
of  ancertain  might  have  been  applied  as  regards  their  age 
rather  than  their  teeth  and  hair,  respecting  which  the 
disinterested  observer  could  not  long  remain  in  doubt.  Some 
of  these  good  people  had  made  somewhat  disagreejible  remarks 
anent  Jessie,  who,  on  one  hot  Sunday  afternoon,  had,  under  the 
Koothing  influence  of  the  reverend  gentleman's  mild  platitudes, 
dnypped  to  sleep  in  the  church  on  my  shoulder,  in  which  blissful 
unoonsiousness  of  the  homily  I  had  {lermitted  her  to  remain ; 
and  hence  we  were  not  strongly  attracted  towards  them, 
although  the  usual  calls  had  been  made,  endured  and  returned 
as  in  duty  bound.  The  round  of  visits  did  not  prove  {xirticularly 
amusing,  and  I  confess  with  shame  that,  after  the  first 
civilities    had   been    exchanged,    I   generally  found  bu^vive^a 


58  A  SIYSTEfilOUS  DISAPPEARANCE. 

reclaim  my  personal  attention  directly  a  native  was  descried  on 
her  way  to  our  little  gate,  leaving  Jessie  to  bear  the  heat  and 
burden  of  the  ceremonious  interview.  The  fact  is  that  a  man, 
during  the  early  stages  of  matrimony,  does  not  sufficiently 
appreciate  the  attention  of  friends  to  give  up  with  good  grace 
a  pleasant  tete  a  tete^  with  a  little  music,  or  the  mutual  enjoy- 
ment of  a  new  book.  The  secret  must  out  ;  one  does  not 
tolerate  any  interruption  to  the  sublime  egotism  of  the  mutual 
admiration  society  which  two  loving  hearts  are  in  duty  bound 
to  institute. 

After  a  day's  hard  work  on  the  rough  chaos  of  the  new  line, 
I  hardly  hailed  with  joy  the  advent  of  the  Misses  Jones,  or  the 
receipt  of  a  primly    worded   note  begging   the  favour   of  our 
company,  on  the  ensuing  Thursday,  to  tea  at  an  hour  when   I 
preferred  settling  down  to  dinner,  a  pipe,  and  the  discussion  of 
household  improvements,  instead  of  the  small  talk,  and,   1  fear, 
too    often  mild  scandal,    whose  head -quarters  were  certainly 
the  red  brick  house,  with  preternaturally  bright   windows  and 
resplendent    brass    knocker,    of    the    charming   sisters,    who, 
by-the-bye  were  the  leaders  of  the  new  Spiritualist  Society. 
However,  we  were  in  for  it,  and  an  early  dinner,  on  the  ensuing 
Thursday,  took  the  place  of  the  comfortable  six  o'clock  meal, 
earned  by  the  day's  work  ;  and,  instead  of  settling  down  to  a 
cheerful  evening  at  the  fireside,  which  November's  chilly  air 
rendered  desirable,  at  five,  to  the  minute,  two  youthful  forms, 
muffled  in  waterproofs,  and  bearing,  beneath  the  sheltering  dome 
of  a  joint  umbrella,  a  basket  of  some  mysterious  fancy-work, 
might  have  been  seen  wending  their  way  through  a  deluge  of 
rain,  along  the  sloppy  road,  to  where  an  unwonted  illumination, 
consisting  of  no   less  than  six  composite  candles,  marked  the 
scene   of  the  expected   festivities.      There   are   in   the  world 
people  who  appreciate  this  sort  of  thing,  as  there  are  digestive 
apparatuses  to  whom  tea,  accompanied  by  rich  dark  plum  or 
lighter  hued  seed,  like  the  rival  charms  of  the  brunette  and  the 
blonde,  present  unaccountable  attractions.     To  my  sympathies, 
I  confess,  neither  appeals  with  success;  and  the  general  stiffness 
of  the  gathering,  which  included  most  of  the  village  notabilities, 
did  not  jDredict  a  jmrticularly  amusing  or  entertaining  evening. 
Village  opinion  tabooed  cards,  music  was  an  almost  unknown 
art  in  the   upper   circles,   and   for  one  moi*tal  hour  after  the 
disappearance   of  the  tea  equipage  did  the  company  discuss 
William  Jenkins'  last  escapade,  Mrs.  Watkins'  want   of  tlirift, 
and  the  unbecoming  smartness  of  Mary  Jones'  Sunday  bonnet, 
the   state   of  the  Dorcas  Society  and  local  clothing  club,  and 
other    parochial    topics,    which,   however    interesting   to    the 
reverend   incumbent    and    his    female    aides-de-camp,   hardly 
awoke  in  our  bosoms  that  interest  to  which  thev  were  doubtless 
entit] 


A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE.  59 

At  half-past  seven  precisely,  however,  a  thrill  of  curiosity  per- 
vaded the  company.  The  unwonted  sound  of  wheels  heralded  a 
knock  and  ring,  as  a  cab  from  the  county  town  dei)osited  beneath 
the  jwrch  a  visitor,  whose  advent  called  forth  an  interchange  of 
meaning  looks  and  suppressed  expressions  of  satisfaction, 
between  the  initiated  members  of  the  societv.  Miss  Jones, 
the  elder  of  our  hostesses,  who  at  the  first  summons  had  left 
the  room,  returned,  ushering  in  a  tliin,  sallow  young  gentleman 
in  spectacles,  whose  long,  lank  hair  was  carefully  divided  by  a 
parting  extending  from  his  bossy  brow  to  his  coat  collar,  and 
whose  chin  boasted  of  a  pale  imperial  as  a  sole  hirsute  ornament, 
while  his  nasal  accentuation  proclaimed  unmistakably  his 
nationality.  In  his  somewhat  rusty  evening  suit  and  cloudy 
white  tie,  he  looked,  as  the  doctor  afterwards  put  it,  a  cross 
between  a  waiter  and  a  begging  letter  writer;  but  then  this  was 
only  a  post  facto  appreciation.  In  any  case,  he  was  not  a  nice 
looking  young  man,  and  his  shifty  glanct*  round  the  room 
inspired  you  with  as  little  desire  to  confide  to  him  the  key  of 
the  cash-box  or  the  care  of  the  plate  basket,  presuming  thest^ 
receptacles  contained  any  valuables,  as  that  of  lending  him  a  ^\^. 
pound  note,  on  the  strength  of  having  met  him  in  a  railway 
carriage.  In  any  case,  the  unwonted  advent  of  a  strang(»r 
produced  what  a  later  age  described  as  a  "  sensation,"  and 
before  long  this  was  increased  by  the  preparations  for  th«* 
business  of  the  evening,  in  which  the  stranger,  as  it  ap^^eared, 
was  destined  to  play  a  leading  part. 

What  followed  we  all  know.  The  composites  were  reduced 
in  number  to  one,  on  a  distant  table,  for  propriety's  sake,  and  in 
the  dim  religious  semi-gloom  tables  turned  under  the  influence 
of  a  dozen  pairs  of  hands,  while  the  furniture,  in  a  ghostly 
manner,  responded,  with  more  or  less  of  Transatlantic  peculiarity, 
to  the  questions  of  the  believer  by  a  concerted  code  of  raps. 
We  drearily  interviewed  the  shades  of  the  late  Lindley  Murray, 
whose  grammar  left  much  to  be  desired ;  and  communed  with 
John  Milton,  George  Washington,  Charles  I.,  and  Julius  Caesar, 
who  kindly  dropped  in  at  the  invitation  of  the  young  gentleman, 
and  deigned  to  interest  themselves  in  the  modem  trivialities 
addressed  to  them,  to  which  they  returned  replies  of  the  most 
bewildering  nature.  In  short,  we  went  through  the  usual 
performance;  and  I,  knowing  something  of  the  vwaus  opei^andi 
of  such  manifestations,  amused  myself  by  allowing  myself  to 
be  drawn  into  admissions  of  having  in  early  life  been  en^gerl 
to  a  lady  named  ^'  Jane,"  who  was  drowned  on  board  the  Koyal 
Chaiter— a  piece  of  information  which  somewhat  disquieted  my 
wife,  nntil,  on  our  return  home,  I,  beneath  the  canopy  of  our 
new  French  bedstead,  in  inquisitorial  chamber,  avowed  my 
dindicity. 

lliis  delightfolly-novel  dissipation  had  not  ceased  to  oce>i\>y 


m  A  JnSTEKIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE 

the  attention  of  those  who  had  assisted  at  the  Professors 
seance,  and  perhaps  mine  was  the  only  mind  from  which  all 
impressions  of  the  performance,  with  the  exception  of  a  shudder- 
ing recollection  of  the  tedious  humbug  of  the  evening,  had 
faded.  Hard  work  during  the  day,  and  the  transactions  of  the 
mutual  admiration  society  to  which  I  have  before  alluded,  in 
the  evening,  had  withdrawn  my  thoughts  from  the  evening^s 
proceedings  ;  and  a  severe  cold  Jessie  had  caught  on  her  return 
tlu-ough  the  rain  had,  with  regrets  civilly  expressed,  prevented 
our  co-oj)eration  in  further  spiritualistic  investigation.  But  a 
like  inattention  had  not  characterised  the  other  guests;  and  a 
■*'  round  robin,''  containing  all  the  names  of  these  votaries  of  the 
Unknown,  from  the  Misses  Jones  to  the  Professor,  reached  us, 
intimating  that  at  a  recent  aeance  remarkable  disclosures  had 
been  vouchsafed  to  the  subscribers  on  the  mysterious  disappear- 
ance of  the  late  tenant  of  our  house,  in  which  we  were  naturally 
assumed  to  be  deeply  interested.  Tlie  missive  concluded  by  a 
respectful  request  for  i^ermission  to  hold  a  meeting  at  our  house, 
where  we  were  informed  that  the  spirit  of  the  late  occupant  had 
imnounced  his  intention  of  imparting  definite  information  on 
the  subject  of  his  departure  from  this  world. 

This  was  undoubtedly  unpleasant  ;  but  Jessie,  feeling  that 
some  return  was  due  to  the  mistaken  kindness  of  our  neighbours, 
retired  to  the  drawing-room  after  breakfast  with  a  large  quantity 
-of  stationery,  and  on  my  return  to  dinner  that  evening  I  learnt 
that  we,  in  turn,  had  presented  our  compliments  to  the  friends 
we  had  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting,  and  desired  the  favour  of 
their  company  on  the  ensuing  Wednesday  to  an  al  fresco  tea — 
for  summer  had  now  come  round.  I  need  hardly  say  she  had 
been  obliged  to  include  the  Professor,  who  had  lately  taken  up 
a  lodging  in  the  village. 

My  only  reply  was,  "Count  the  spoons,  my  love,  if  the 
Professor  accepts ;"  and  with  this  mild  remark  I  resigned  myself 
ix)  the  inevitable.  All  things  considered,  the  little  gathering 
passed  off  better  than  might  have  been  expected,  and  the 
stiffness  which  had  characterised  our  guests  seemed  to  have 
thawed  a  little  under  the  influence  of  our  ready  acquiescence  in 
their  wishes.  The  Professor  was  beaming ;  ubiquitous  gleamed 
his  s^^ectacles,  under  which  he  had  a  knack  of  looking  more 
sharply  than  shortsighted  persons  are  wont  to  do.  He  was 
indefati^ble  in  his  attentions;  and  after  toiling  manfully  in 
the  distribution  of  the  accompaniments  of  rustic  tea,  he  was 
actually  good  enough  to  while  away  ah  hour,  during  which  we 
>iat  on  the  lawn,  in  the  performance  of  a  few  feats  of  sleight  of 
hand;  which,  strange  to  say,  appeared  rather  to  exalt  his 
mysterious  influence  on  our  guests.  As  the  evening  wore  on,  I 
begged  the  company  to  consider  the  house  at  their  disposal,  and 


A  JIYSTEKIOUS  DISAPPPLAKAXCE.  61 

requested  them  to  choose  the  room  in  which  they  considered 
the  expected  ghostly  visitant  would  be  most  at  ease,  mentally 
reserving,  however,  to  myself  the  office  of  separating  the  clever 
fingers  of  the  Professor  from  the  vicinity  of  our  slender  stock  o 
valuables  by  my  personal  interposition,  after  the  experience  oi 
the  attraction  they  appeared  to  possess  over  such  inanimate 
objects  as  watches,  handkerchiefs,  and  other  adjuncts  to  his 
magical  performances. 

The  late  tenant's  sitting-room  was  chosen,  and  in  the  faint 
summer  twilight  the  same  mysterious  raps  were  heard  ])roceed- 
ing  from  a  solid-looking  dining-table  which  I  had,  with  some 
other  fumitiu-e,  taken  over  with  the  house,  and  uj)  ti  which, 
doubtless,  Mr.  Tyndall  had  often  counted  out  his  money  or 
mixed  his  grog.  Favourable  replies  indicated  the  presence  of 
the  late  occupant's  spirit,  and  the  appalling  information  was 
elicited  that  his  mortal  remains  were  to  be  found  inteiTed  at  no 
great  distance  from  our  garden  gate,  although  the  precise 
whereabouts  were  not  ascertainable,  as  the  Professor  infonned 
us  that  the  spirits  were  not  inclined  to  impart  further  details. 
In  fact,  at  this  point  Mr.  Tyndall's  representiitive  did  not  behave 
well,  and  the  hannony  of  the  meeting  was  slightly  aftected  by 
the  elder  Miss  Jones,  who  suggested,  with  a  sniff  and  a 
reproachful  glance  at  my  unworthy  self,  that  the  presence  of  an 
unbeliever  might  probably  exercise  a  discomposing  influence  on 
the  stance.  The  truth  is,  it  was  late,  I  was  tired,  and  wanted 
a  pii>e,  and  I  had  yawned  and  been  a  trifle*  uneasy  during  the 
latter  portion  of  the  evening.  As,  however,  I  felt  that  Jessie 
and  I  were,  in  our  capacity  of  host  and  hostess,  hardly  called 
upon  to  encamp  upon  the  lawn,  pending  more  favourable 
spiritual  dispositions,  and  the  late  hoiu*  of  eleven  had  arrived — 
an  hour  unprecedented  in  the  annals  of  the  village  festivities — 
the  akince  dissolved,  after  a  unanimous  recpiest  on  the  part  of 
the  participants  to  be  allowed  to  make  certain  inquisitions  ;  to 
which,  in  a  weak  moment,  I  unluckily  acceded. 

Jessie,  next  morning,  received  a  pressing  letter  from  home, 
where  her  father  was  seriously  ill, .  and  set  of!*  at  mid-day  for 
North  Wales;  while  I,  having  some  heavy  work  to  set  out  at 
Aberpergwm,  the  extreme  end  of  the  section,  gave  the  maid 
a  holiday,  locked  up  the  house,  left  the  key  at  the  jx)stM)ffice, 
and  resolved  for  the  ensuing  week  to  entrust  myself  to  the 
foBtering  care  of  the  ^^  Ked  Lion,"  at  that  place. 

That  evening,  then,  without  a  thought  of  the  careless  per- 
miBsion  I  had  accorded  to  the  Professor  and  his  friends,  I 
hired  a  trap,  and  was  driven  to  my  destination.  Jessie  has 
siiioe  remarked  that  this  is  not  the  only  case  in  which  my 
decisions  and  promises  of  over-night  have  not  received  proper 
attentum  and  fulfilment  on  the  morrow ;  but  this  is  a  digres- 


62  A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE. 

fiion,  and  merely  illustrative  of  the  common  course  of  events,  as 
presented  to  the  experience  of  most  married  men.  I  got  a  re- 
assuring letter  from  Jessie,  whose  father  was  much  better,  and 
on  the  sixth  day  after  her  departure  I  started  home  to  get  the 
house  ready  for  her  return  on  the  following  evening.  As  I 
emerged  from  the  village  street,  and  turned  into  the  little  lane 
leading  to  my  once  happy  home,  a  scene  presented  itself  very 
much  more  germane  to  my  engineering  experiences  than  any 
that  might  be  supposed  usually  associated  with  the  approach  to 
one's  residence.  My  farther  progress  was  checked  by  a  deep 
ditch  and  bank  of  earth,  about  six  feet  outside  the  gate,  from 
which  radiated  some  half-dozen  smaller  trenches,  continued 
through  the  garden  hedge,  and  cutting  up  ruthlessly  my  trim 
lawn  and  flower  beds. 

In  bold  relief  against  the  declining  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
the  elder  Miss  Jones,  in  a  blue  sun-shade,  worn  some  summers 
previously  at  Tenby,  and  known  then  as  an  "  ugly,"  stood  on  a 
mound  of  excavated  earth,  beside  the  Professor,  in  a  straw  hat, 
superintending  the  labours  of  six  able-bodied  paupers;  whilst  I, 
like  another  Moses,  ruefully  surveyed  the  promised  land  from 
the  summit  of  a  Pisgah  of  dirt  thrown  up  across  the  lane.  I 
did  not  swear — emphatically.  No  !  I  had  literally  no  words  to 
do  so,  had  such  been  my  deplorable  habit ;  but  I  am  given  to 
understand  that  the  recumbent  attitude  assumed  by  the  Pro- 
fessor, directly  I  penctiuted  the  outworks,  resulted  from  a  hasty 
movement  on  my  part,  which  1  venture  to  believe,  under  the 
circumstances,  to  have  been  a  justifiable  impulse.  The  elder 
Miss  Jones  was  borne,  shrieking,  by  the  able-bodied  paupers,  fi*om 
the  scene ;  her  chaste  draperies,  disarranged  in  the  proceedings, 
disclosing  quite  as  much  as  was  delicate  of  her  nether  limbs, 
concerning  which  I  can  only  remark  that  they  much  resembled 
a  pair  of  well-picked  drumsticks  in  black  stockings. 

It  cost  me,  in  hard  cash,  a  whole  five-pound  note  to  restore 
something  like  order  to  the  theatre  of  operations ;  and  I  estimate 
at  a  considerably  higher  valuation  my  loss  of  temper,  and 
Jessie's  tears  at  the  wholesale  destruction  of  her  floral  favourites. 
But  this  was  not  the  end  of  the  matter.  The  clergyman  called, 
and  in  a  dignified  manner  took  upon  himself  to  remonstrate  with 
me  for  my  violent  behaviour ;  aiid,  asl  remained  somewhat  more 
than  impenitent,  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  myself  stigma- 
tised as  a  turbulent  Sadducee,  while  threats  of  action  for  assault 
and  battery  were  made  by  the  irate  Professor,  for  the  affront  to 
his  sacred  person.  The  doctor  was  my  only  link  with  the  society 
of  the  village;  and,  for  obvious  reasons,  comprehensible  by  newly- 
married  couples,  our  good  relations  were  carefully  maintained, 
and  the  more  easily,  as  he,  as  before  mentioned,  cared  more  for 
spirits  in  the  concrete  than  in   the  abstract,  which  doubtless 


A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE.  63 

prevented  his  adopting  the  prevailing  opinions  with  regard  to 
myself. 

However,  we  rather  liked  this  isolation,  as  we  were  no  longer 
under  the  necessity  of  enduring  any  more  spiritualistic  enter- 
tainments; but  it  ceased  to  be  as  agreeable  when  our  ser\'ant  girl, 
a  seriously-minded  Particular  Baptist,  announced  her  intention 
of  leaving,  as  "  indeed  she  wass  'feard  to  sleep  in  an  'aunted 
'case,  and  people  wass  say  as  so  long  Mr.  Tyndall's  body  wasn't 
in  the  churchyard  things  'oodent  never  be  no  better,  indeed." 
All  this  happened  in  a  week  or  so ;  and,  the  maid  leaving  at  a 
day's  notice,  I  had  to  prepare  breakfast  with  my  own  hands, 
Jessie  not  feeling  well  that  morning.  Flushed  with  my  culinary 
exertions,  I  was  bearing  the  tray,  with  doubtful-looking  rashers 
and  muddy  coffee,  to  the  dining  room,  when  in  rushed  our  only 
friend,  the  doctor. 

Hardly  apologising  for  his  early  visit,  he  begged  me  to  come 
out  to  the  gate,  where  I  was  confronted  with  a  keen-eyed, 
middle-aged  man,  who,  as  the  doctor  informed  me,  was  the  son 
of  an  old  servant  of  his,  and  who  belonged  to  the  police  force  of 
the  next  county,  but  was  in  plain  clothes.  The  man  was  anxious 
to  obtain  an  interview  with  our  friend,  the  Professor,  and  the 
doctor  rightly  conjectured  I  might  feel  interested  at  learning  its 
results.  We  followed  the  intelligent  officer  to  the  Professor's 
lodgings,  from  which  he  presently  emerged  with  the  news  that 
he  feared  he  was  too  late — that  individual  on  the  previous  day 
having,  as  his  landlady  put  it,  "  gone  to  spend  a  few  days  with  a 
friend."  Enquiry  elicited  the  fact  that  he  was  considerably  in 
her  debt  for  board  and  lodging  ;  and  I  regret  to  say  that  his 
personal  belongings,  which  in  part  remained  behind,  went,  when, 
on  his  prolonged  absence,  they  were  investigated,  but  a  very 
little  way  towards  discharging  this  obligation. 

Before  long  it  leaked  out  that,  under  the  pretext  of  the  non- 
arrival  of  funds  from  his  native  home  in  the  States,  he  had 
borrowed  smaller  or  larger  sums  from  every  member  of  the 
spiritualistic  circle;  which  indebtedness  he,  with  native  modesty, 
forbore  to  intrude  ui>on  their  after  remembrance  by  any  attempt 
at  repayment.  That  was  the  last  heard  of  the  Professor  in  those 
parts,  and,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  the  last  tidings  I  ever  had 
of  him ;  while,  strangely  enough,  too,  the  spiritualist  enquiry 
languished  in  our  village  until  it  finally  beciime  extinct,  and  has 
since,  I  understand,  been  a  somewhat  sore  j)oint  with  the 
circle. 

I  spent  two  happy  years  at  Llantrisant,  then  moved  to  fresh 
fields  and  pastures  new ;  but  it  may  please  the  reader  who  has 
thas  fiir  interested  himself  in  my  fortunes  there  to  know  that 
my  ehaxacter  was  rehabilitated;  that  the  clergyman  in  the 
handsomest  maimer  withdrew  Ids  un&vourable  opinion;  and 


64  A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEAKAXCK. 

that,  with  the  exception  of  the  elder  ]Miss  Jones,  between 
whom  and  myself  some  coldness  ever  remained,  I  experienced 
all  kindness  and  goodwill  from  my  neighbours,  especially  at  a 
very  anxious  period  after  the  birth  of  my  first  child.  Four 
years  later  I  heard  from  the  doctor.  "John  Jones  is  come 
back  from  Ohio.  He  went  West,  and  in  Denver  ran  up  against 
no  other  than  old  Tyndall,  the  man  who  was  killed  and  buried  by 
your  gate,  you  know."  He  says  :  "  The  old  'umbug  wass  pretend 
his  name  wass  Johnson,  but  I  knowed  better,  and  told  him  so, 
too.     Yes,  indeed !" 


WELSH  POETRY  IN  ENGLISH  DRESS. 


TO  THE  STABS. 


I*/  Dafydd  ap  Gwilyin,  a  Wdsh  Bard  of  the  I4th  Gentwi^. 

Translated  by  A.  J.  JohnSy  Esq. 

Oh,  I  must  have  the  wheels  of  May, 
To  guide  me  safely  on  my  way. 
Before  I  dare  again  to  climb 
The  mountain  precipice  sublime, 
Or  rove  amid  the  mountain  rocks, 
Or  seek  to  quaff,  on  yonder  hill. 
The  mead  with  her  of  glossy  locks ; 
Oh  !  love  to  danger  leads  us  still ! 
I^st  night,  by  reckless  love  betrayed, 
I  wandered  through  the  midnight  shade, 
O'er  long-ridged  hills,  with  many  a  moor 
And  tangled  thicket  studded  o'er ; 
And  oft,  with  stumbling  feet,  I  fell 
O'er  manv  a  castle's  ruins  bare ; 
At  last  I  reached  the  city  where 
The  airy  elves  of  darkness  dwell ! 

A  vast  green  town,  whose  mansions  drear 

High  o'er  the  mountain's  summit  i)eer : 

Chilled  with  an  agony  of  fear. 

In  vain  I  strove,  with  sudden  bound, 

To  fly  the  wild  and  haunted  ground. 

Yon  promontory's  dusky  height, 

Enveloped  all  around  in  nicfht. 

Like  luckless  warrior,  whom  his  foes 

Fiercely  in  hollow  glen  enclose, 

I  crossed  myself,  and  gave  a  cry 

Of  terror  and  of  agony; 

And  then  recalled  to  mind  the  rhyme 

Of  the  great  bard  of  olden  time,    * 

Who,  au  in  white  and  gold  arrayed, 

*  This  ham  a  mystiad  aUiudon.  Taliesin,  the  pymric  Orpheua,  is  said  to  have 
KO  enwliwed  in  *  ouldron  of  itone,  and  to  have  been  there  initiated  into  the 
ijjatariaa  o(  Diiiidlni. 

E 


66  WELSH  POETRY  IN  ENGLISH  DRESS. 

Into  the  stony  cauldron  went. 

Like  him,  by  lack  of  love  betrayed. 

Was  I  within  yon  thicket  pent  1 

My  way  to  Llanddwyn  I  had  ta'en. 

To  find  u  cure  for  all  my  pain. 

But  He  on  whom  our  faith  depends, 

The  Virgin's  Son,  who  watches  ever, 

And  ever  glories  to  deliver, 

The  bard  in  his  despair  befriends. 

Twelve  signs  of  hoi>e,  at  his  command. 

With  showers  of  splendour  light  the  land ; 

Brightly  arose  upon  my  sight 

The  stars — those  jewels  of  the  night ; 

Majestic  splendours — sparks  of  seven 

Fires  that  illume  the  saints  in  heaven ; 

Fruits  of  the  dim  moon's  glimm'rings  cold, 

Fair  diadem  around  her  roll'd  ! 

Omens  of  seasons  glad  and  fair. 

Bright  signals  in  the  heaven  displayed, 

Scattered  like  hailstones  everywhere — 

Like  hailstones  of  the  sunbeams  made  I 

Those  golden  treasures  of  the  sky, 

Grrand  coinage  of  the  Deity ; 

Those  chessmen  clearly  marked  on  high. 

On  the  broad  chessboard  of  the  sky. 


Tiara  of  heaven's  summit  blue. 

Far  wand'ring  brilliants — you 

Till  yester  eve  I  never  knew  ! 

Praise  to  the  gorgeous  splendours  I  praise 

To  the  red  flow'rs  f  that  deck  heaven's  ways  I 

Praise  to  the  splendour  that  they  gave, 

(Those  golden  works !)  the  bard  to  save. 

Those  holy  tapers,  pure  and  bright. 

Conspicuous  raised  on  yonder  height, 

The  heavens — God's  noblest  work  -to  light ! 

Beads  for  repentant  sinner's  hand. 

Brightly  suspended  without  band  ; 

O'er  evening's  broad  grey  sky  they  blaze. 

Like  Camlan's  host  in  ancient  days  I 

t  Who  has  not  read  the  beautiful   verses  of  Longfellow,   in    Voices  oj  the 
Night. 

**  S(>ake  full  weU,  in  language  quaint  and  olden, 
One  who  dwelleth  by  uie  castled  Rhine  ; 
Wlien  he  called  the  flowers  so  blue  and  golden, 
Stars  that  in  earth's  firmament  do  shine." 

Our  Welsh  Bard's  simile  is  equally  beautiful,  though  an  inverse  one,  so  to 
state.    It  has  the  further  merit  of  being  older  than  Chaucer. — Editor. 


WELSH  POETRY  IN  ENGLISH  DBESS.  67 

Studs  in  the  welkin's  pillars  driven, 
Seeds  that  have  floated  up  to  heaven. 
In  vain  the  blast  of  night  asj^ires 
To  quench  those  bright  aerial  fires  ; 
In  vain  their  citadels  to  climb, 
In  all  its  wanderings  sublime  ! 
They  freed  my  vision  from  its  si)ell, 
And  led  my  steps  o'er  hill  and  dell. 
Far  from  that  sprite-frequented  fell ; 
And  pointed  out  the  road  to  Mon, 
The  way  my  love-sick  heart  had  flown, 
(Alas,  this  wayward  heart  of  mine !) 
But  not  till  morning  did  I  gain, 
By  a  long,  sleepless  night  of  pain. 
The  palace  of  the  maid  divine. 
Ah,  maiden,  miracle  of  Mon ! 
Again  at  midnight  will  I  never 
Thus  rove  for  thee — ^thus  strive  to  shiver 
With  axe  of  wood  a  rock  of  stone. 


E  2 


WELSH    CHARACTER    SKETCHES. 


WOMEN'S  CLUBS. 


Memorable  ingtitations  of  my  youth,  vhither  are  ye  gone? 
The  tall  liats,  the  peak  bonnets,  the  great  warm  shawls,  the  <^ 
cloaks,  the  &t  and  rosy  faces,  the  warm,  honest  hearta,  the  burly 
forma ;  mothers  of  the  middle-aged  and  old  men  around  as — 
whither,  I  ask,  whither  are  ye  gone  ?  and  echo  answers — ffow)! 

Yes,  it  is  many  long  years  ago  since  I  saw  the  procession  tX 
a  Women's  Club,  but  I  can  remember  the  last  as  if  it  had 
happened  only  yesterday.  First  and  foremost  was  Mother 
Williams,  a  tall,  strapping  personage,  just  arrived  at  that  period 
when  good  looks  remain  in  the  fiice  lingering  like  a  remem- 
brance, and  the  tendency  to  adipose,  as  our  artist  calls  fii^ 
is  being  developed.  She  was  accompanied  by  her  own  fimiiliar 
friend  Jane,  the  washerwoman,  about  whom  remained  oft  tha 
odoar  <d — soap?  no,  not  soap — nun!     Mother  Williams  uid 


WOMEN'S   CLUBS.  69 

Jane  were  cronies,  and  if  you  only  put  them  close  to  a  rouml 
table  by  the  fireside,  the  old  black  tea-pot,  muffins,  or  toast, 
and  pleasant  gossip,  followed  naturally. 

After  these,  in  the  procession,  came  the  women,  two  by 
two,  varied  in  dress  as  in  face,  some  doing  a  quiet  bit  of 
stocking  knitting,  all  chatting  pleasantly,  and  looking  about 
them  with  merry  faces,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Why  shouldn't 
we  *  walk,'  and  have  our  feast,  as  well  as  the  Foresters  and 
the  Oddfellows  ?"  And  yet  there  was  a  little  shyness  about 
the  dames  such  as  Oddfellows  and  Foresters  never  showed. 
The  Oddfellow,  for  example,  was  never  abashed,  no  matter 
how  alarmingly  decorated.  The  expanse  of  his  sash  or  his 
banner,  the  lustre  of  his  equipments,  were  matters  of  course. 
The  dames,  although  devoid  of  regalia  and  bannerless,  were 
somewhat  timid,  and  seemed  rather  glad  when  all  was  over, 
and  the  club  room  reached. 

In  the  rear  of  the  procession  came  Billy,  the  wooden-legged 
secretary  to  this  and  a  lot  of  other  clubs;  the  general 
amanuensis  to  everybody  who  couldn't  write ;  the  village 
accountant  and  mill  worker ;  a  bit  of  a  bard  and  a  politician, 
and  a  perfect  oracle  with  those  boys  who  are  now  greying 
around  us,  and  wrinkling  with  the  years.  Billy  had  his  quill 
|)en  behind  his  ear,  and  the  club  books  under  his  arm.  They 
were  his  regalia,  the  insignia  of  office ;  and  as  he  "  pegged  " 
out,  as  the  boys  said,  there  was  an  importance  in  every  thump 
of  the  war  ferrule  that  no  boot  ever  did  or  ever  could  give. 
That  sound  on  the  hard  road  had  a  decision  and  a  dignity 
about  it.  It  seemed  to  say,  "  Yes,  this  is  a  women's  club  ;  but 
/  am  the  secretary.  Women  nfiay  have  clubs,  but  they  must  have  a 
man  to  look  after  their  income  and  disbursements,  or  they'd  come 
to  grief  very  soon."  So  the  wooden  leg  seemed  to  give  forth 
its  decision  and  its  dignity.  The  ease  with  which  it  passed  over 
a  big  gtone,  turned  a  comer,  or  forded  a  puddle,  in  those  pre- 
Board  of  Health  days,  was  a  treat  for  the  small  boys  to 
witness. 

TliOBe  words,  ^^  small  boys,"  remind  me  of  an  invariable 
occurrence  at  the  club  feast,  when  the  procession  was  over. 
At  the  door  it  was  no  uncommon  thing  for  a  himgry  boy  or 
two  to  be  lingering  about ;  and,  rules  notwithstanding,  many 
and  many  a  time  was  a  small  boy  smuggled  in  under  a 
roomy  shawl,  and  substantially  feasted  as  he  lety  in  concealment 
onder  the  table.  Warm-hearted  old  dames !  They  all  stood 
up  for  obedience  to  tlie  rules ;  all,  save  the  sinner,  looked  as 
ihongli  thqr  were  incapable  of  transgressing,  and  yet  all  knew 
o^  and  all  winked  at,  the  sin ;  for  the  mighty  law  of  a  common 
motherhood  made  them  oblivious  of  Biuy,  his  rules,  wooden 


70  WELSH  CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 

These  clubs,  so  far  as  my  experience  goes,  have  died  out. 
There  may  be  clubs  still ;  doubtless  there  are  clubs,  but  they 
don't  walk.  The  oldest  of  the  women  I  knew  has  been  dead 
for  years  and  years  ;  and  Billy,  too,  is  only  faintly  remembered 
by  the  old.  There  was  something  amusing  about  the  club,  the 
procession,  and  the  feast ;  but,  as  they  are  recalled  to  memory, 
let  us  think  of  them  with  kindly  hearts.  The  club  was  the 
expression  of  provident  aims,  and,  primitive  and  humble  as  it 
was  in  its  results — often,  I  fear,  dead  failures — there  was  yet 
an  honest  ring  about  it,  for  it  was  part  of  an  age  before 
"  shoddy  "  came  in. 

Ap  Adda. 


GOSSIP   FROM  THE   WELSH   COIXEGES. 


JESUS  COLLEGE,  OXFORD. 


Term  is  uow  almost  over.  In  the 
couriie  of  a  week  Oxford  nill  again 
be  deserted,  save  by  a  few  unhappy 
individuals  who  are  "  in  the  schools." 
The  examiners  are,  this  term,  un- 
usually severe.  Not  uontented  with 
ploughing  men  right  and  left,,  in 
order  to  raise  money  for  the  new 
>  schools,  which  were  built  at  such  an 
C  enormous  cost,  they  have  now  begun 
'  to  fine  undergraduates  for  being  in 
F  the  precincts  of  the  schools  without 
L  academical  dress — a  violation  of  a 
:  which,  up  to  the  present  time, 
was  practically  obsolete;  but  a  new  era  has  begun  iu  Oxford 
since  the  days  of  the  University  Commission. 

Time  has  flown  by  so  quickly ;  so  much  haa  hapi>ened,  and 
yet  so  little — so  much  of  interest  lo  ua,  so  little  of  interest  to 
the  world — that  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  whut  to  tell  you  this  month. 
One  of  the  great  topics  of  conversation  during  the  term  has 
been  the  mission  carried  on  here  by  Messrs.  Moody  and  Sankey. 
'\''arsity  men  have  been  strangely  interested  in  their  work,  and 
the  special  meetings  for  undergraduates  have  been  crowded  each 
night  by  comparatively  orderly  congregations.  For  some  two 
Tears  back  a  few  'Varsity  men,  who  call  themselves  "  The  Oxfiwd 
University  Church  Army,"  have  been  in  the  habit  of  holding 
evangelical  meetingB  at  the  Alartyrs'  Memorial  on  Sunday  nights, 
flo  that  BensationaJ  religion  of  the  Moody  and  Sankey  type  is 
not  entixely  new  to  us.  Still  I  think  and  hojie  the  services  have 
doDe  good;   but  I  could    have  wished    to  see  letm   c&ut;  83i4. 


72  GOSSIP  FKOM  THE  ^^'ELSH  COLLEGES. 

hypocrisy — not  in  the  Bevivalists  themselves,  whom  I  beh'eve  to 
be  conscientious  men,  but  in  many  of  the  "  saved,"  who  so 
oflSciously  proffered  their  senices. 

On  Wednesday,  Nov.  15th,  the  two  Universities  sent  a  repre- 
nentative  Kugby  Union  P'ootball  team  to  play  against  London. 
The  match,  which  was  played  at  Blackheath,  resulted  in  a  victory 
for  the  visitors  by  two  tries  to  nil.  One  of  these  was  obtained 
by  Mr.  A*  M.  Evanson,  the  captain  of  our  college  football  club, 
who  has  been  chosen  to  play  in  the  match.  North  v.  South, 
which  comes  off  in  London  on  Saturday,  2nd  December.  He 
has  been  highly  commended  by  all  the  sporting  papers  for  his 
play  this  season. 

The  College  Scratch  Fours  came  off  about  the  middle  of  term, 
and  resulted  in  some  very  good  racing.  The  College  Athletic 
Sports,  too,  have  taken  place,  and,  in  spite  of  unpropitious 
weather,  were  a  decided  success.  The  Philothespians  are  giving 
an  entertainment  to  the  'Varsity  gratis,  this  term,  prior  to 
departing  for  Brighton,  where  they  are  going  to  perform  later 
on.  The  play  is  "  Money,"  and,  from  the  cast,  we  ought  to 
have  a  very  pleasant  evening. 

During  the  recent  vacation  the  whole  of  the  west  front  of  the 
College  has  been  re-faced ;  the  portion  of  the  north  front,  too, 
destroyed  last  Christmas  by  fire,  has  been  rebuilt.  Other 
improvements  are  in  contemplation;  the  south  front,  or,  at 
least,  a  part  of  it,  is  to  be  renewed,  and  the  old  arched  oak  roof 
of  the  hall,  with  its  curiously-carved  pendants,  is  to  be  restored 
— an  improvement  which  will  be  heartily  welcomed  by  all 
members  of  the  College,  both  past  and  present,  who  have  long 
wished  for  the  removal  of  the  smoke-begrimed  and  hideous 
plaster  roof  which  at  present  conceals  the  beauties  of  the  noble 
structure  above. 

LLYFR  COCH. 


ST.   DAVID'S   COLLEGE,   LAMPETEK. 


The  annual  athletic  sports  of  the  college  came  off  very 
successfully  at  the  beginning  of  the  month.  The  weather  was 
exceptionally  £eivourable ;  a  single  fine  but  cold  day  standing 
between  weeks  of  incessant  rain.  The  sport  was  very  £Biir, 
though  the  state  of  the  groimd  alone  would  have  prevented  any 
wonderful  feats  or  fast  time.  The  attendance  of  visitors  was 
^jTceptionally   large,  and    everybody    seemed   satisfied.     The 


GOSSIP  FROM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES.  7:^ 

arrangements  must  have  entailed  a  great  deal  of  trouble  on  the 
secretaries,  Messrs.  Owen  and  Hamer,  but  they  had  their  reward 
in  the  success  of  the  gathering.  Marvellously  few  of  those 
hitches  which  seem  inseparable  from  such  assemblies  marred 
the  harmony  of  the  proceedings.  A  band  from  Llandilo 
beguiled  the  tedious  moments  of  waiting  by  their  music. 

As  for  our  football,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  the  season  began 
with  a  bad  defeat  in  our  first  match.  The  incessant  wet  seems 
rather  to  have  acted  as  a  damj^er  on  our  spirits.  But  the  change 
in  the  weather  has  already  produced  an  improvement.  I^ast 
week's  practices  were  numerously  attended  and  energetically 
conducted.  A  second  fifteen  has  been  organised,  which  will  do 
a  good  sen-ice  if  it  brings  forward  promising  freshmen.  1 
hope  next  month  to  be  able  to  chronicle  our  successes. 

Preparations  for  the  concert  have  begun.  The  pieces  to  be 
performed  are  fixed,  and  an  energetic  conductor  has  been  found 
in  Mr.  John  Williams.  The  programme  will  show  that  our 
selections  have  at  least  the  merit  of  being  thoroughly  ]Mitriotic, 
even  if  the  frivolous  objector  urges  that  they  are  not  all  very 
classical.  But,  what  is  more  to  the  point,  they  please  us  au<i 
are  within  our  ken,  and  a  successful  concert  is  to  be  hoped 
for. 

The  College  Board  has  applied  for  affiliation  to  the  University 
of  Cambridge  on  similar  conditions  to  those  granted  by  Oxford 
some  time  ago.  The  Cambridge  syndicate  has  reported  most 
favourably  on  our  claims, and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that,  by  the  time 
these  lines  are  in  the  hands  of  my  readers,  the  Senate  will  have 
passed  the  measure.  Its  effect  will  be  to  excuse  our  graduates 
from  the  previous  examination,  and  reduce  the  resid(»nce 
necessary  for  them  for  the  Cambridge  degree  to  two  years.  As 
we  have  always  been  equally  connected  with  both  the  univer- 
sities, it  seems  right  that  any  tendency  towards  Oxford  which 
recent  events  may  have  produced  shall  be  counteracted  by  a 
tightening  of  the  ties  which  bind  us  to  the  sister  university. 

The  supplement  to  the  liampeter  calendar  for  the  current 
year  has  just  been  published.  It  contains  a  list  of  "  members 
on  the  college  books,  the  examination  papers  for  last  June,  and 
much  important  miscellaneous  information."  Special  stress 
seems  to  have  been  laid  on  some  very  imi>oi1;ant  changes. 
Besides  the  new  scientific  plans,  to  which  attention  has  already 
been  directed  in  these  notes,  the  establishment  of  pass  and 
honour  *^  schools  "  of  modem  history,  languages  and  literature 
deserve  special  attention.  A  student  can  now  take  his  degree 
at  Lampeter  in  all  the  chief  subjects  recognised  at  Oxford.  One 
detail  in  the  new  plan  should  gladden  the  heart  of  every  true- 
Welshman.  Welsh  philology  and  literature  may  be  oflFered  by 
candidates  in  the  new  school  instead  of  the  modem  languages. 
Such  a  settlement  of  a  gnestion,  long  a  ^^  burning  sub^ee^.^''  Vcv 


74  GOSSIP  FEOM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES. 

Lampeter  ix)litics,  ought  to  please  everybody.  It  yields  to 
Welsh  its  obvious  right  to  be  the  subject  of  systematic  philo- 
logical and  literary  study,  which  will  keep  a  man  to  his  degree. 
But  the  terms  of  the  scheme  are  such  that  none  can  object  that 
the  degree  is  cheapened  or  lessened  in  value.  Indeed,  the 
•careful  study  of  such  standard  books  as  Professor  Rhys'  "  Welsh 
Philology,"  or  of  Zeuss'  great  work,  in  combination  with  selected 
mastei*2)ieces  of  classic  literature,  will  be  a  subject  difficult  and 
fruitful  enough.  We  shall  gain  local  colour  without  the  fear 
of  provincialism.  Indeed,  the  Eoyal  University  of  Ireland, 
established  imder  Government  patronage,  recognises  Celtic  much 
more  than  we  do  even  now.  But  great  changes  must  work 
slowly.  Another  feature  to  which  the  calendar  supplement 
invites  special  attention  is  the  provision  by  which  scholarships 
are  offered  for  all  subjects  of  study  recognised  by  the  college, 
such  as  classics,  science,  mathematics,  history,  etc.,  besides  the 
scholarships  given  for  tlie  ordinary  college  work.  A  gratifying 
list  of  donors  of  new  books  to  the  library  is  added ;  but  there 
still  remain  to  be  filled  up  many  gaps  in  what  is  in  some  ways  a 
most  valuable  collection  of  books.  The  Librarian  is  very  anxious 
to  specialise  in  Welsh,  so  that  a  complete  collection  of  standard 
Welsh  books  may  be  found  in  the  oldest  Welsh  college,  and 
appeals  to  the  public  to  help  Iiim  in  his  object.  But  I  must 
refer  to  the  calendar  and  supplement  those  who  want  full 
information  as  to  the  present  state  of  the  college.  Tliey  may 
be  obtained  together  for  2s.,  post  free,  from  T.  L.  Da\4es  and 
Co.,  Lampeter,  the  publishers. 

It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  able  to  record  the  visit  of  an 
exceptional  number  of  our  old  students  and  distinguished 
friends  of  the  college  during  this  term.  Visitors  at  I^ampeter 
can  never  be  very  numerous,  but  they  are  all  the  more  welcome 
when  they  come.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  such  pleasant  meetings 
will  not  become  fewer.  It  may  be  added  that  a  most  interesting 
address  to  our  men  was  recently  given  in  chapel  by  Arch- 
deacon Lewis,  of  St.  David's. 

Michaelmas  Term  ended  on  Saturday,  December  9th,  and  the 
Lent  Term  will  begin  on  January  28th.  The  college  conceit 
came  off  very  successfully  on  Thursday,  December  7th. 
Although  the  snow  and  cold  must  have  been  great  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  friends  from  a  distance,  the  hall  was  crowded  almost 
to  excess  with  an  audience  that  seemed  to  thoroughly  enjoy 
the  music.  The  first  part  of  the  concert  was  occupied  by 
singing  the  pleasing  and  popular  cantata  by  Owain  Alaw,  called 
the  "  Prince  of  Wales."  The  chorus  had  obviously  been  well 
drilled,  and  sang  very  nicely;  and  the  solo  parts  were  also 
performed  in  a  very  satisfactory  way.  The  famous  Caradog,  who 
is  now  a  near  neighbour  of  ours,  lent  his  valuable  assistance. 
TJie  exceedingly  warm  reception  given  to   Miss  Thomas,  of 


GOSSIP  FROM  THE  WELSH  COLl.EGES. 


75 


Llanelty,  our  prima  don^ia,  was  well  desened  by  her  fresh  and 
pleasant  voice.  In  the  eetxmd  part  of  the  concert  a  miscellaiieous 
selection  of  songs  and  InetrumeDttil  pieces  proved  very  i>opular. 
It  would  be  invidious  to  mention  names  when  everyone  did  his 
part  so  well.  In  short,  the  successful  Term  was  fittingly  ended 
by  the  succeBsful  concert.     May  next  Term  come  off  ae  well. 

Our  football  has  been  uniformly  unsuccessful.  Although  we 
have  several  excellent  players,  we  certainly  have  not  an  excellent 
fifteen.  At  Llandovery,  at  Carmarthen,  and  at  Llanelly  we 
proved  equally  unsuccessful,  and  it  is  hardly  consoling  to  add 
that  our  tliree  best  men  missed  being  selected  to  play  in  the 
South  Walen  team,  though  they  seemed  to  have  done  very 
creditably  in  the  trial  matx^h. 

Professor  Rhys,  of  Oxford,  has  been  nominated  our  additional 
examiner  for  next  June,  and  also  Welsh  examiner  for  the 
following  year.  His  appointment  is  sure  to  be  a  popular  one, 
and  his  experience  in  all  grades  of  Welsh  education  will  make 
him  except  ion  111  ly  qualified  to  judge  om-  work  fairly  and 
accuratelv. 

T. 


UNIVERSITV  COLLEGE  OF  WALES,  ABER^'STW^TH. 


The  new  life  which  the  Govern- 
ment   grant    has  given    to    the 
College  has  throbb«i  even  to  the 
■  Webb  Class.     This  class  is  always 
the  first   to    languish    from    the 
departure  of  ol<l  students,  and  the 
last  to  be  affected  by  a  great  influx 
-  of  new  ones.     The  reason  is  not 
.  far  to   seek.     Welsh   tells   in   no 
*jf-*' examination,  and  students  cannot 
•'^?^  take    it    unlees,  after  making  up 
Hheir  time-tables,  they  find  they 
'f,  have     time     unemployed.       The 
s  here 
r  love,  and  a  pleasant  labour  it  is — more  of  a  luxury 


that  a  severe  stady.  Meeting  in  the  professor's  cosy  private 
KKMDf  the  clara  of  eight  or  nine  students  read  some  Welsh 
author;  the  philology  and  use  of  words  are  discussed,  each 
aaan  e^duning  the  sense  in   which  the  word  is  xmdeTiA.Q(A 


76  GOSSIP  FEOM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES. 

in  his  own  district ;  and,  as  every  member  can  speak 
Welsh  fluently,  very  delicate  shades  of  meaning  between 
the  use  of  words  in  different  counties  can  be  treated 
of.  The  histor}'  of  a  word,  or  the  name  of  a  place,  often 
calls  for  a  strange  bit  of  folk-lore  in  explanation.  When 
this  happens,  parallel  stories  floating  in  different  parts  of 
Wales  are  recounted ;  and,  haviog  once  launched  into  "  Hen  y 
werin,"  the  more  we  depart  from  the  word  originally  under 
consideration  the  more  delightful  does  the  class  become.  The 
lectures  on  the  philology  of  the  Welsh  Bible  are  among  the 
most  popular  this  term. 

The  Welsh  Class,  furnishing  as  much  relaxation  as  instruc- 
tion, may  well  serve  as  a  connecting  link  between  the  severed 
studies  and,  what  form  as  essential  a  ][>art  of  college  training, 
the  various  college  clubs.  Of  these  the  most  j>opular  is 
certainly  the  Debating  Society.  The  subjects  of  debate  this 
term  were  well  chosen,  the  openers  always  enthusiastic,  the 
speaking  good  and  plentiful,  the  attendance  very  large,  and  the 
meetings  altogether  very  enjoyable.  It  is  in  this  club  alone 
that  all  the  students  see  each  other ;  this  forms  the  strongest 
bond  of  union  between  them ;  and,  perhaps,  it  is  characteristic 
of  our  nation,  divided  as  it  is  into  glens  and  valleys,  jmrties 
and  sects,  that  the  only  room  in  a  college  where  all  the 
students  can  meet  together,  is  the  debating-room.  An  evening 
is  given  now  and  then  to  impromptu  speaking,  and  many  a 
strange  and  incoherent  maiden  speech  is  thus  elicited.  The 
literary  entertainments  have  been  greatly  enjoyed ;  the  songs 
and  readings,  if  not  always  successful,  always  giving  pleasure. 

The  Athletic  Club  has  not  been  so  prosperous.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  term  prospects  were  unusually  bright,  and 
the  enthusiasm,  if  judged  from  the  number  of  Greek  and  Latin 
phrases  in  praise  of  athletics  in  use  among  the  junior  students, 
was  great.  We  had  a  few  excellent  practices  ;  there  seemed  to 
be  every  hope  of  a  better  team  than  we  have  been  able  to  show 
for  some  time ;  but  the  miserable  weather  considerably  cooled 
the  ardour.  The  Rugby  team  has  suffered  no  defeat  as  yet ; 
the  Association  team,  being  but  lately  formed,  has  met  with 
reverses,  but  is  rapidly  improving. 

Within  the  students'  rooms  it  is  believed  that  good  work  has 
been  done.  We  will  enter  one  of  them  when  work  is  over. 
Perhaps  the  occupant  of  the  room  has  a  group  of  fellow-students 
round  his  fire ;  and,  as  is  often  the  case,  one  of  them  may  be 
telling  a  ghost  story.  There  is  a  peculiar  charm  in  this. 
Almost  every  district  of  Wales  has  its  own  peculiarities  of  folk- 
lore, and  the  variety  of  the  stories  told  by  students  from  every 
part  of  the  Principality  adds  a  new  charm  to  them.  Corpse- 
candles,  given  to  St.  David's  see  in  answer  to  the  prayer  of  it» 
patron  saint,  tres]>ass  into  North  Wales,  but  a  North  Walian 


GOSSIP  FKOM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES.  77 

listens  in  wonder  to  an  account  of  a  toilij  and,  in  his  turn,  can 
entertain  his  South  Wales  brother  with  flesh-creeping  descrii)- 
tions  of  many  a  ghastly  supernatural  character.  The  student 
whistles  if  he  has  to  go  along  the  dark  corridor  to  his  own 
room ;  but  the  midnight  hour  thus  pleasantly  spent  has  afforded 
him  relaxation,  and,  as  the  morning  dawns,  he  is  ready  for 
study,  and  bids 

"  Farewell  to  legencUxy  tales  ; 
The  8hadow8  fly,  phUoBophy  prevails." 

0.  M.  E. 


OUR  "RED  DRAGONS'*  AT  WESTMINSTER. 

By  a.  Pendragon. 


It  is  all  over  now.  The  long  Session,  so  remarkable,  so 
chequered,  so  marked  by  shadow,  so  big  with  promise,  so 
impotent  for  good,  has  come  to  an  end.  It  fizzled  like  a  damp 
squib  on  Wednesday,  and  nothing  remained  but  a  charred  stick 
on  Saturday.  The  lights  are  out ;  the  benches  and  the  Speaker's 
chair  have  been  smothered  in  dingy  hoUand ;  chains  protect  the 
front  Benches — those  Benches  sacred  to  the  memory  of  the 
Government  of  all  the  Talents,  of  the  Ministry  of  other  days, 
of  the  factions  of  which  Lord  Eandolph  Churchill  and  Mr. 
Dillwyn  are  the  effigies  and  the  leaders.  They  shall  not  be 
violated  by  the  touch  of  the  non-elect !  The  mace  has  been 
wrapped  up  in  swaddling  flannels,  and  confided  for  safe  keeping 
to  the  Lord  Chancellor;  and  "Daddy  Longlegs "- -otherwise 
Captain  Gossett,  otherwise  the  Sergeant-at-Anns — has  put  aside 
his  silken  hose  and  sword,  and,  with  a  cigar  in  mouth  and  an 
oaken  staff  in  hand,  enjoys  his  otium  cum  dignitate  at  his 
club ;  or  sleeps,  his  dreams  undisturbed  by  the  tocsin  of  the 
division  bell  or  the  vision  of  Mr.  Bradlaugh  making  a  raid  upon 
the  table,  equipped  with  a  portable  prayer  book,  a  copy  of  the 
oath  of  allegiance,  a  pen,  and  an  exciseman's  ink-bottle.  Every 
member  has  fled.  Even  those  mysterious  personages  who  occupy 
seats  in  the  House,  without  possessing  any  visible  means  of 
subsistence,  have  contrived  to  settle  up  with  the  Kitchen  and 
Befreshment  Committee,  or  to  satisfy  the  just  or  unjust  claims 
of  the  holder  of  the  whisky  bottle.  The  House  presents  a  dark 
and  deserted  appearance  ;  it  makes  one  shudder,  from  loneliness 
of  spirit ;  and,  as  I  roam  listlessly  through  the  Library  or  Tea- 
room, one  wonders  if  it  be  possible  to  run  against  Mr.  Dillwyn, 
or  Mr.  Henry  Eichard,  or  Mr.  Peter  Rylands,  putting  questions 
down  for  next  Session ;  or  Mr.  Warton  or  ilr.  Biggar  shaping 
**  blocks  "  to  be  used  against  the  heads  of  Mr.  Pendarves  Vivian 
or  Sir  George  Campbell.  There  is  only  one  sign  of  life  in  all 
these  stately  chambers,  and  that  is  a  hat. 

"  There  is  not  much  life  in  a  hat,  when  the  head  is  out  of  it,*' 

say  my  readers ;  but  a  Parliamentary  hat  is  not  as  ordinary  hats 

are.     The  private  member's  hat  is  really  as  important  a  £Eustor  in 


OUR   "RED  DRAGONS"  AT  WESTMINSTER.       79' 

the  composition  of  the  House  as  the  member  whom  it  represents. 
Personally,  I  could  place  my  hand  upon  many  Solons  whose  hats 
I  would  rather  see  than  themselves.  On  "big  nights"  a  seat 
for  the  evening  is  secured  by  dei)ositing  a  hat  on  it.  The 
operation  is  performed  sometimes  as  early  as  ten  a.m.  I  have 
known  a  member  leave  his  chapeau  with  the  constable  detailed 
for  early  duty  in  the  morning,  with  instructions  to  "  place  it  in 
my  seat  as  soon  as  you  arrive,"  the  hon.  gentleman  himself  going 
home  in  a  cab  bare-headed.  I  have  often  thought  what  a  good 
business  might  be  done  by  some  superannuated  janitor  or  worn- 
out  party  messenger,  if  he  were  to  provide  himself  with  a  stock 
of  hats,  to  be  let  out  to  private  members  who  wished  to  secure 
places,  and  did  not  want  to  make  personal  service  or  attend 
prayers.  Of  course,  private  members,  who  have  been  sufficiently 
long  in  the  House  to  have  acquired  a  prescriptive  right  to  a 
certain  seat,  should  be  able  to  command  it  whenever  they  might 
enter  the  House.  But  the  House  of  Commons,  like  any  other 
Club,  has  its  "  objectionable  parties,"  who  have  no  respect  for 
prescription,  and  would  sit  down  in  the  place  of  the  Archangel 
Gabriel  himself,  if  it  happened  to  be  temporarily  vacant.  I 
remember  a  vulgar  Whig,  who,  taking  a  contemptible  advantage 
of  jVIr.  Dillwyn's  absence  in  the  City,  where  he  was  performing 
his  well-known  part  of  "  guinea  pig  "  on  a  City  Board,  had  the 
audacity  to  drop  the  baser  part  of  his  base  body  into  the  place 
so  intimately  associated  with  the  hon.  member  for  Swansea ; 
and  when  its  lawful  tenant  re-appeared,  and  went  through  a 
variety  of  polite  genuflexions  in  front  of  the  man  in 
possession,  that  person  simulated  slumber.  And  egad,  sir, 
he  stuck  to  it  for  the  entire  evening ;  the  result  being  that 
Mr.  Dillwyn,  confused  by  being  divorced  from  his  usual  seat, 
went,  by  mistake  into  the  wrong  lobby,  and 

"  Uave  up  t<>  mankind 
\Vhat  was  intended  for  party." 

However,  the  audacious  intruder  was  punished  for  his  >vretched 
and  trucolent  behaviour,  for  he  lost  his  seat  in  Parliament 
shortly  afterwards,  and  his  place  was  taken  by  a  Conservative. 
Since  that  day  Mr.  Dillwyn  has  always  contrived  to  secure  his 
accustomed  seatat  the  top  of  the  front  Bench  below  the  Ministerial 
gangway.  His  hat  is  well  known — as  well  known,  indeed,  as  is 
the  Seigeant-at^ Arms  or  the  clock  over  the  door.  Members  have 
often  wondered  how  the  hon.  gentleman  ventures  to  leave  his  hat 
in  his  seat,  though  he  himself  is  actually  not  within  measurable 
distance  of  Westminster  at  the  time.  It  is  even  whispered  th'it 
on  one  oocason  last  Session,  when  Mr.  Dillwyn  was  addressing  a 
meeting  in  Sonth  Wales,  his  hat  was  in  his  place  at  West- 
minster. Bnt  I  do  not  see  how  that  could  be  ;  unless,  like  the 
genial   and   veneiable   Sir  Charles  Foster,  Bart.,  \ie  \]^a&  a 


80       OUE  "BED  DBAGOXS"  AT  WESTMINSTER. 

standing  contract  with  the  Petition  Clerk  that  wherever  he 
hangs  the  petition  bags  each  afternoon  at  the  side  of  the  House 
table,  he  shall  also  deposit  a  hat  in  the  hon.  member's  place. 
This  arrangement  would  necessarily  involve  the  keeping  of  a 
spare  hat  in  the  House — not  that  such  a  proceeding  is  by  any 
means  unusual.  Sir  Henry  Drummond  WoUF  keeps  two  hats, 
and  it  was  the  House  hat  of  the  hon.  baronet  which  I  observed 
hanging  behind  the  door  of  the  Library  diuing  my  excursion 
tlirough  the  deserted  chambers  a  few  hours  since.  It  will, 
therefore,  be  seen  that  the  hat  performs  a  very  important 
function  in  the  economy  of  the  Legislature,  and  that  a  chapeauj 
encountered  under  any  circumstances  in  the  Lower  House,  may 
justly  and  fitly  command  the  notice  and  excite  the  curiosity  of 
the  stranger  and  the  pilgrim.  The  hat  of  the  hon.  member  for 
Portsmouth  is  really  the  only  remaining  effigy  of  life  now  left 
to  point  a  moral  and  adorn  a  tale  in  the  palace  of  St.  Stephen's. 
Of  comse,  the  whole  of  the  Welsh  members  were  not  in  their 
places  on  Saturday  night,  when  the  prorogation  was  solemnised. 
They  had,  indeed,  disappeared  one  by  one,  as  soon  as  it  became 
an  established  certainty  that  the  serious  business  of  the  Session 
was  at  an  end,  that  no  more  serious  party  divisions  would  take 
place ;  and  that,  do  what  they  might,  they  could  not  diminish 
nor  aggravate  the  irritation  incidental  to  the  "  gag«"  Sir  Henry 
Hussey  Vivian,  Viscount  Emlyn,  Sir  John  Jones  Jenkins,  Mr. 
Morgan  Lloyd,  Mr.  Carbut,  Mr.  Henry  Richai*d,  Mr.  Dillwyn,  and 
many  others,  were  conspicuous  by  their  absence  at  the  proro- 
gation. Several  of  them  carried  away  with  them  relics  of  our 
villainous  climate  at  this  season  of  the  year  in  the  centre  of  the 
empire.  But,  before  quitting  us,  Mr.  Dillwyn,  Mr.  Henry 
Bichard,  and  Mr.  Bathbone,  each  after  his  particular  vein,  gave 
Parliament  a  taste  of  what  the  "  Bed  Dragon  "  can  be  when 
he  is  *'  put  to  it."  Mr.  Dillwyn,  for  example,  threw  himself 
against  the  whole  of  the  Opposition,  and  for  some  hours  pre- 
vented Mr.  Beginald  Yorke  doing  that  which  he  had  assisted 
Mr.  Pamell  a  few  hours  previously  to  do,  namely,  move  the 
adjoTimment  of  the  House,  under  the  new  "  forty  member " 
rule.  Mr.  Dillwyn  is  undoubtedly  a  master  of  Parliamentary 
"  fence ;"  he  is  a  vade  Tnecum  of  constitutional  practice,  as  Mr. 
Biggar,  venturing  one  night  to  speak  in  a  foreign  tongue  of 
other  days  ventured  to  say;  and  in  my  desultory  reading  I 
cannot  recall  any  combat  like  unto  that  which  the  hon.  member 
for  Swansea  engaged  in  with  a  round  dozen  of  infuriated 
Tories.  Before  it,  the  famous  short-sword  combat,  in  which 
Mr.  Crummies  engaged  with  one  of  his  company,  loses  its 
ancient  renown,  and  the  triangular  duel,  described  by  Captain 
Marryat,  "  pales  its  ineffectual  fires."  Mr.  Dillwyn,  it  is  true, 
had  the  advantage  of  Mr.  Labouchere's  assistance ;  but,  as  the 
member  for  Northampton  is  popularly  believed  to  sit  in  the  House 


OUR  «KED  DRAGONS"  AT  WESTMINSTER.        81 

of  Commons  to  represent  Beelzebub,  and  prevent  the  wrong 
from  being  set  right,  the  alliance  is  rather  a  matter  for  regret 
than  rejoicing  in  Swansea.  But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Mr. 
Dillwyn  exliibited  consummate  art,  and  would  make  a  fertile 
8|>eaker  or  a  resourceful  chairman  of  ways  and  means.  That 
the  "  bnital  "  strength  of  the  Opposition  proved  too  much  for 
the  hon.  gentleman  stands  to  his  credit,  as  showing  how  une<|ual 
was  the  combat.  About  the  same  time  Mr.  Henry  Richard 
came  down  to  the  House  thirsting  for  French  gore.  He  had 
been  with  the  Malagasy  Ambassadors,  and  had  heard  a  terrible 
story  of  Frankish  interference,  both  actual  and  pro8i)ective,  in 
the  religious  liberty  of  the  Malagese  ;  and,  egged  on  by  the 
Congregationalists,  had  buckled  on  his  armour,  girded  up  his 
loins,  and  come  down  to  demand  that  Mr.  Gladstone  should  make 
war  upon  France.  Well,  it  did  not  quite  come  to  that ;  though 
the  hon.  member  certainly  gave  assiurance  enough  that,  though 
he  would  oppose  a  war  instituted  to  obtain  a  scientific  frontier, 
or  in  the  interests  of  a  number  of  usurious  dealers  in 
*'  Egyptians,**  he  would  himself  take  the  field  against  France  in 
defence  of  the  religious  liberties  of  Malagasy.  We  have  often 
heard  stories  of  the  fighting  parson.  I  am  by  no  means  certain 
that  we  may  not  yet  see  Mr.  Richard  throwing  aside  his  pen,  as 
Editor  of  the  Herald  of  Peace,  and  heading  an  attack  upon 
some  French  Tel-el-Kebir  in  Madagascar.  Finally,  we  had 
Mr.  Rathbone,  who  made  it  clear,  in  an  ingenious  moment,  that 
he,  and  not  Mr.  Gladstone,  was  the  real  author  of  the  procedure 
resolutions,  and  the  inventor  of  Grand  Committees. 

With  these  exceptions,  the  Session  saw  but  little  of  the  Welsli 
Members.  I  should  like  to  say  here,  that  anything  I  may  hav^^ 
written  in  this  or  any  preceding  article  has,  I  hope,  given  no 
annoyance  to  the  gentlemen  whom  I  have  found  occasion  to 
mention  in  these  reminiscences.  In  this  repudiation  I  am  sure 
the  Editor  of  the  Red  Dragon  will  cordially  concur.  The  Welsh 
members,  take  them  all  round,  are  a  highly  estimable  body  of 
men,  of  whom  Mr.  Dillwyn  and  Mr.  Henry  Richard,  who  have 
been  so  frequently  mentioned  by  me,  are  legislators  whom  it 
would  be  impossible  for  any  historian  of  a  Session  to  jiass  over 
with  less  tlum  the  notice  I  have  ventured  to  give  them. 

London,  December ,  1882. 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS. 


NOTE     I. 

My  notes  or  rather  note,  this  month  might  have  been  more 
appropriately  termed  a  gossip  about  Mary  fiussell  Mitford. 
The  Rev.  A.  G.  L'estrange,  already  the  editor  of  a  Lifey  of  the 
lady,  has  supplemented  his  effort  with  a  couple  of  volumes  of  her 
Friendships  as  recorded  in  letters  from  her  literary  corres- 
pondents ;  which  said  couple  of  volumes  shall  serve  me  as  a  peg 
whereon  to  hang  as  many  remarks  as  I  may  have  to  make  in 
reference  to  the  personage  who  is  their  central  figure.  "  We 
naturally  inquire,"  says  Air.  L'estrange,  "  first  of  all,  how  Miss 
Mitford,  who  lived  in  a  secluded  Berkshire  village,  and  seldom 
visited  Ix)ndon,  became  acquainted  with  so  many  celebrities." 
The  answer  is  simple  enough.  '*  She  was  a  successful  dramatist, 
the  editor  of  an  annual,  a  contributor  to  periodicals,  and  from 
time  to  time  people  wrote  to  her  expressing  admiration  for  her 
works."  Ajmrt  from  this,  she  was  socially  popular.  In  the 
summer  time,  when  she  gave  strawberry  parties  at  her  cottage, 
the  road  leading  to  it  was  crowded  with  the  carriages  of  all  the 
rank  and  fashion  in  the  county.  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 
thought  even  more  of  Miss  Mitford's  self  than  of  Miss  Mitford's 
books.  "  Her  letters  and  conversation,"  wrote  the  distinguished 
poetess,  "  show  more  grasp  of  intellect  and  general  power  than 
would  be  inferrable  from  her  finished  compositions."  It  is  no 
wonder,  therefore,  that  a  woman  so  situated  and  so  gifted  should 
have  made  hosts  of  friends  whose  acquaintance  was  well  worth 
the  cultivating.  Although  there  may  be  a  great  many  of  the 
readers  of  the  Red  Zh'agan — probably  by  far  the  greater  propor- 
tion— to  whom  Miss  Mitford's  name  and  history  are  perfectly 
familiar,  there  are  doubtless  also  a  great  many — the  younger 
more  especially — who  know  next  to  nothing  about  either.  It  is 
for  the  benefit  of  the  latter  that  I  write.  The  present  editor^s 
Life,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  I  have  not  seen ;  an  explanation  I 
think  it  but  right  to  make,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  that  1 
have  obtained  my  materials  elsewhere. 

Mary  Russell  Mitford  must  have  been  at  least  twenty  years 
old  when  Washington  Irving  published  his  Sketch  Book,  which 
took  the  literary  world  by  storm.     Mary,  who  had  before  then 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  J.IBRAKY  BOOKS.         83 

written  a  couple  of  volumes  of  verses,  to  which  the  QuaHerlj/ 
hatl  given  a  tremendous  dressing,  thought  that  she  too  could, 
like  Irving,  paint  in  prose  the  quiet  beauties  of  the  rural  world. 
Drawing  upt)n  my  memory  for  most  of  my  facts,  I  forget  now 
in  how  many  volumes  Our  Village  first  made  its  appearance 
in  jjrint.  My  coj)y  is  in  five,  rather  thin,  and  of  the  size 
called  }>ost  octa\  o.  lint  the  book  originally  appeared  not  in 
volume  form  at  all ;  its  authoress,  like  Carlyle,  with  SaHor,  being 
obliged  to  slice  it  up  for  publication  in  the  columns  of  a 
magazine.  The  firms  of  the  Row  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  just  as,  previously,  they  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
Irving's  Sketch  Book\  although  one  of  them — that  of  Murray, 
I  think — immediately  the  Sketch  Book  showed  itself  to  be  a 
favourite,  offered  the  author  i.3,000  for  his  next  work,  whatever 
it  might  be,  without  seeing  the  manuscript.  They  specu- 
late in  the  Row  sometimes. 

I^ike  Irving's  book,  again,  ]Mary's  got  into  popular  favour  all 
at  once ;  and,  to  do  the  QuaHerly  justice,  that  magazine  gave 
the  new  work  as  much  praise  as  it  had  given  censure  to  the  old. 
After  this,  nearly  everything  in  the  literary  line  that  the 
authoress  touched  turned  into  gold.  Her  plays  were  not  only 
acted,  but  printed  and  read.  She  wrote  poems,  short  stories, 
country  sketches — all  that  one  woman  could  possibly  be 
expected  to  do — and  all  were  well  read,  well  (by  which  I  mean 
widely  no  less  than  favourably)  criticised,  and  last,  but  not 
least  imi)ortant  consideration,  well  paid  for. 

I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  say  it,  because  I  preserve  all  my 
old  liking  for  her  works  myself,  but  it  is  the  truth  that  Mary 
Russell  Mitford  is  not  now  so  much  thought  of  as  she  used  to 
be.  Who  now  knows  her  dramas,  "Julian,"  "Foscari,"  "Charles 
the  Firsts"  "  Rienzi,**  even  by  name  ?  Her  "  Stories  of  American 
Life,"  have  they  still  any  readers,  I  wonder  ?  Her  contributions 
to  those  marvellous  volumes — themselves  forgotten,  or  nearly  so 
— **  Finden's  Tableaux,"  are  they  f[Uoted  from  or  even  remem- 
bered ?  Not  by  many,  I  am  afraid.  Nay,  even  the  "  Village  " 
itself,  how  many  of  the  present  generation,  man  or  woman,  under 
thirty,  can  boast  of  having  dip^)ed  into  it,  much  less  been 
charmed  with  those  delightful  bits  of  scenery,  customs  and 
manners  which  with  our  parents  were  such  universal  fiivourites. 

In  literature,  as  in  clothes,  there  are  fashions.  The  old  order 
changeth,  constantly  changeth,  and  giveth  place  to  the  new* 
And  more  especially  is  this  observable  where  poet  or  prose 
writer  possesses  not  that  master  touch  which  can  awaken 
common  chords  of  feeling  not  only  in  a  nation,  but  in  all 
mankind.  This  is  a  power  given  to  but  a  few.  It  is  as  much 
beyond  the  herd  of  tne  litemti  as  the  heavens  are  above  the 
earth.  Shakspeare,  I  had  thought,  was  one  of  tho&e  ^Vio 
poflBessed  this  magic  touch.    Messrs.  Leslie  Stephen  and  \f  •  %< 

;f2 


M         MAEGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS. 

Gilbert  have,  however,  assured  me  that  I  am  wrong.  He  too,  the 
Swan  of  Avon,  the  poet  for  all  time,  upon  the  high  pedestal 
whereon  fame  has  placed  him,  is  becoming  veiled  from  us  more 
and  more  deeply  as  the  years  go  by.  I  do  not  wonder  at 
Mr.  Gilbert's  saying  this,  because  he  is  so  very  much  in  the 
fashion  himself.  As  for  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen — well,  we  are  all 
liable  to  err.  But  this  is  drifting  from  JMarj-  Russell  Mitford 
and  her  books,  methinks. 

The  immense  popularity  of  Our  Village  was  doubtless  due 
in  a  very  great  measure  to  its  freshness.  Children  are  always 
pleased  with  new  toys,  and  men  and  women  are  only  children 
grown  up.  Just  seventy  and  seven  years  ago,  when 
Our  Village  first  saw  the  light,  the  made  dishes  of  literature, 
were  few  in  number  and  primitive  in  kind.  Mary  Mitford's 
work  was  a  distinct  departure  from  the  old  artificial  lines ; 
and  the  public,  as  though  just  discovering  that  they  had 
a  new  taste  to  gratify,  devoured  with  avidity  the  new 
pabulum.  Tliey  had  been  indulging  in  all  sorts  of 
romance — "  novels  of  character,"  of  "passion,"  of  "  \'irtue,'*  and 
what  not  ? — and  had  hunted  for  it  far  a  field — in  Spain,  Italy, 
Sicily,  and  elsewhere.  They  had  sought  it  amid  surroundings 
that  were  unreal,  and  had  heard  it  related  in  diction  that  was 
fine;  and  when  the  writer  arose  who  showed  them  that  the 
material  they  had  crossed  the  seas  for  lay  at  their  very  feet ; 
that  there  was  in  English  field  and  flower  and  hedgerow 
a  world  of  beauty  of  which  they  had  never  dreamt ;  and  that 
simple  thoughts  and  imstrained  language  had  a  music  and  a 
tenderness  of  the  most  exquisite  kind,  her  words  were  as  a 
new  revelation  to  them,  and  they  were  delighted  accordingly. 
The  vein  struck  by  Miss  Mitford  has  been  well  worked  since ; 
not  a  scribbler  for  a  penny  dreadful  has  left  it  untried. 

I  do  not  propose  to  go  very  much  into  Miss  Mitford's  life,  and 
I  think  if  she  herself  had  been  a  little  more  reticent  nothing 
would  have  been  lost  thereby.  In  her  autobiographical  details 
there  is  a  father  who  crops  up  much  more  often  than  he  is 
welcome.  Mr.  Home,  the  editor  of  a  collection  of  Mrs.  Barrett 
Browning's  letters,  describes  this  personage  as  "  a  jovial,  stick- 
at-nothing,  fox-hunting  squiie  of  the  three-bottle  class,"  which 
is  not  quite  correct.  The  elder  Mitford  was  a  thoughtless, 
improvident,  whist-playing,  hare-coursing  wine-bibber;  good- 
natured,  hilarious,  and  a  doctor — an  M.D. — not  a  "  squire ;"  a 
man  who  went  through  seventy  thousand  i)ounds,  and  was 
brought  at  last  to  entire  dependence  upon  the  earnings  of  his 
daughter.  Not  a  very  estimable  character,  truly,  and  certainly 
not  worth  a  tithe  of  the  praise  or  the  notice  bestowed  upon  him 
by  his  talented,  chivalrous  child,  and  those  who  have  written  of 
her.  I  can't  help  thinking  that  Mr.  L'estrange  himself,  in  the 
jfresent  work^has  devoted  too  much  space  to  the  old  scapegrace. 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRABY  BOOKS.        8.3 

Ill-natured  people  may  insinuate  that  this  was  unavoidable,  as 
there  were  two  volumes  to  be  filled,  and  the  affairs  of  the  doctor 
could  be  made  to  occupy  close  upon  sixty  i)ages,  or  about  a  tenth 
of  the  entire  work.  But  there  would  be  no  truth  in  a  charge  of 
this  kind, for  jVIr.  L'estrange  says,  at  the  end  of  the  second  volume, 
that  his  materials  are  not  even  then  exhausted.  So  that  the 
worst  that  can  be  urged  against  him  is  that  he  has  not  always 
been  judicious  in  his  selection.  Of  the  sixty  pages,  just  alluded 
to,  I  would  advise  the  reader  to  skip  tlie  first  thirty-five.  Let 
him  plunge  at  once  into  the  letter  written  by  Wni.  Cobbett  to 
Dr.  5litford,  which  appears  on  the  thii-ty-sixtli  page  of  the  first 
volume.  Or  he  may,  if  he  likes,  pass  over  this  one  also,  and 
go  onto  the  next,  and  begin  at  the  second  line:  — 

"Give  me  some  news  about  dogs,"  you  will  find  the  editor  of 

t  he  Political  Re/fistet^  saying.     "  D i>olit ics  !    Is  Snip  in  pup 

yet  ?  a  matter  of  far  more  importance  than  whether  the  Prince 
of  Asturias  be  hanged  or  not ;  or  whether  his  silly  father  be  in 
a  madhouse ;  or  what  grenadier  is  the  gallant  of  his  old  punk 
of  a  mother.  We  are  well  set  to  work,  truly,  to  pester  our 
brains  about  these  rogues !  It  matters  not  a  straw  whether 
Napoleon  liang  them  all  or  send  them  a-begging.  And  as  to 
our  fellows  at  Whitehall  and  Westminster,  we  shall  be  sure  to 
do  right  if  we  hate  them  all."  That  is  William  Cobbett 
all  over.  A  good  hater,  if  ever  there  was  one  in  this  world ; 
and  on  that  account  to  be  liked,  if  we  are  to  follow  Ijord 
Byron's  example,  when  speaking  of  the  author  of  the  "  letters 
of  Junius."  Cobbett,  however,  did  not  hate  every  one  of  "  our 
fellows  at  Whitehall  and  Westminster."  I  find  him  making 
at  the  least  one  exception,  and  this  is  how  he  did  it:  "  Lefevre, 
indeed,  as  far  as  the  spaniels  go,  is  of  some  importance  ;  and, 
though  he  has  played  you  foul,  I  hoi)e  he  will  live  till  we  have 
got  that  more  valuable  part  of  the  creation  out  of  his  hands." 
The  italics  are  mine.  Was  anything  ever  more  delicious  ?  Not 
that  Cobbett  loved  Lefevre  and  all  creation  less,  but  that  he 
loved  the  sjianiels  more. 

Before  dismissing  Cobbett,  let  me  show  the  reader  what  a 
game  preserver  he  was — he,  the  demagogue  and  the  deadly 
enemy  of  aristocrats,  and  everything  aristocratic.  Writing  to 
the  doctor  from  Botley,  on  the  I3th  of  May,  1808,  he  says  :  "  I 
have  succeeded  in  shutting  up  my  footway,  and  I  have  now 
one  hundred  and  fifty  acres  of  woods  and  cornfields,  into  which 
no  one  but  myself  has  a  right  to  enter.  The  timber  will  be 
cleained  ont^  and  all  will  be  as  tranquil  as  possible.  I  shall  this 
fall  have  my  labourers'  cottages  here  and  there  all  round  it,  and  I 
will  not  suffer  man  or  dog  to  enter  for  the  purpose  of  sporting 
till  I  have  well  stocked  it.  The  rest  of  my  land  on  the 
Litchfield  road  (now  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  acrea^  1  WlYL 
sport  rxfoa,  and  it,  which  consists  two-thirds  of  covers,  wiW  eoou 


86         MABGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRAEY  BOOKS. 

be  well  stocked  too.  There  will  be  no  coursing  amongst  these 
copfiices ;  but  it  will  be  pleasant  to  have  plenty  of  hares,  etc." 
And  again,  on  August  29th,  of  the  same  year,  he  writes: 
"  The  pheasants  are  all  well,  both  nids,  and  I  have  great  hopes 
of  success  in  stocking  my  woods."  After  describing  a  visit  to 
Beckford's  great  place  at  Fonthill,  he  proceeds:  "After  all, 
give  me  Fairthom,  and  the  hares  and  the  pheasants,  when  I  can 
get  them.  Aiiroix)s  of  the  hares,  when  I  read  the  accoimt  of 
poor  Lord  Clanricarde's  death,  "  There,"  said  I,  ** expired  the 
hares  of  this  country."  I  have  met  Poulter  (whose  name 
should  receive  the  addition  of  an  «•),  who,  you  know,  is  a  parson, 
brother-in-law  of  the  bishop,  prebendary  of  Manchester,  rector 
of  four  parishes  united  into  two,  a  chaplain  of  the  bishop,  a 
commissioner  of  taxes,  and  a  justice  of  the  peace.  But  you 
know  him.  This  fellow  met  me  as  I  was  coming  from 
Robinson's  (whose  poor  wife  is  very  ill  indeed),  and  he  spake 
me  thus :  **  Mr.  Cobbett,  I  am  happy  to  meet  you.  I  was  just 
telling  the  farmer  (a  sly-looking  fellow  who  was  with  him), 
that  of  the  two  manors  of  Eaton  and  Stoke  (adjoining  that  of 
Warn  ford),  myself  and  Sir  Thomas  Champneys  have  now  got 
the  deputations  from  the  Cliapter  of  the  College,  in  consequence 
of  the  death  of  Lord  Clanricarde,  who  kept  them  unjustifiably 
to  himself.  And  we  mean  that  that  tyranny  shall  no 
longer  be  exercised,  but  that  any  gentleman  or 
farmer    shall    take     their    pleasure    upon    them    when    they 

please."      Oh,  d d  Le\4te!    thought  I  to  myself,    so  you 

would  fain  i)ersuade  me  that  I  shall  have  better  sport  when 
the  farmers  have  killed  the  hares,  and  you  have  stuflFed  your 
hoggish  parson's  guts  with  them,  than  I  had  when  they  were 
preserved,  and  when  the  whole  neighbourhood  was  stocked 
witli  them  by  my  Lord  Clanricarde !  .  .  I  leave  you  to 
guess  (the  manor  of  Wamford  being  closely  circumscribed  by 
these  manors)  what  a  chance  the  poor  hares  will  now  stand. 
By  the  first  of  October  there  will  not  a  brace  be  left  alive 
in  these  manors;  and  then,  there  being  no  one  at  Wamford 
House,  rush  they  go,  the  pot-hunting  crew,  into  that  manor, 
and     the   hares   will    be    heard    squeaking   like   rats    on    the 

breaking  up  of  a  wheat  mow.     Oh,  d d  prebendary  I   thy 

maw  will  now  be  crammed,  and  sportsmen  may  hunger  and 
thirst  over  barren  downs.  What  a  base  dog,  to  curry  favour 
with  the  rascally  cunnudgeons  of  farmers  by  these  means !" 
Again,  Botley,  January  22nd :  "  I  feed  my  wild  pheasants  in 
the  woods.  Shall  I  get  the  pied  ones  ?  Our  kindest  respects 
to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Mitford.  God  bless  you,  and  damn  the 
minister." 

But  one  more  extract  from  these  Col)bett  letters,  and  I  have 

finished.     It  has  nothing  to  do  with  hares,  but  it  is  altogether 

too  cbaracteristic  of  the  man  to  be  omitted.     It  is  the  postscript 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS.         87 

to  the  letter  of  May  L3th,  already  quoted  from.  The  writer 
»;iys :  **  I  am  flattered  by  what  you  say  about  my  public 
letter.  Nothing  was  ever  more  ready  I  believe;  and  I  am 
not  without  hoi^)e  that  it  will  i)roduce  some  efiect.  I  may  be 
a  very  illiterate  fellow ;  but  I  certainly  am  more  than  a 
match  for  all  those  pretenders  to  learning  and  philosophy. 
There  is  a  damned  cant  in  vogue,  which,  when  attacked  by 
plain  sense  and  reason,  discovers  its  weakness."  There  may 
be  some  expressions  in  the  foregoing  which  jar  upon  the 
ears  of  the  refined.  Let  the  reader  remember  that  they  are 
Cobbett's,  not  mine,  and  that  they  are  copied  word  for  word, 
letter  for  letter,  from  a  fashionable  book,  circulated  by  a 
fashionable  library.  Not  that  I  \vi8h  to  find  fault  with  them ; 
far  from  it.  I  agree  most  thoroughly  with  Charlotte  Bronte, 
that  it  is  better  to  print  with  all  their  letters  those  words 
usually  represented  by  their  initials  and  finals  only — a  blank 
line  filling  the  sjmce  between.  Charlotte's  rule  is  such  a  good 
one  that  I  give  it.  "  The  practice,"  she  writes,  in  her  preface 
to  her  sister  Emily's  W^Uheo^i/ng  Heights j  "of  hinting  by 
simple  letters  those  expletives  with  which  profane  and  violent 
persons  are  wont  to  garnish  their  discourse,  strikes  me  as  a 
proceeding  which,  however  well  meant,  is  weak  and  futile.  I 
cannot  tell  what  good  it  does,  what  feeling  it  spares,  what 
horror  it  conceals."  Neither  can  anybody  else,  but  the  incor- 
rigibly prude.  I  have  done  now  with  Cobbett  and  digressing; 
unless,  perhaps,  I  ought  to  say  of  the  former  that  a  dispute 
between  him  and  another  gentleman,  in  which  Dr.  JNlitford 
became  involved,  separated  the  families,  and  that  some  pleasant 
reminiscences  of  her  visits  to  and  from  the  great  Radical  may 
be  found  in  Mary's  Recollections  of  a  Literary  Life. 


THREE  SCENES  AT  LLANDAFF. 


A  day  in  the  full  meridian  of  summer,  when  the  Taflf  had  a 
lazier  flow,  and  the  tall  trees,  full-leafed,  a  more  umbrageous 
shade.  Llandafi  looked  monastic,  dreamy;  a  silence  as  of 
antiquity  prevailed  there,  and  the  stranger  would  never  imagine 
that  he  had  only  to  cross  the  fields  and  be  in  the  great  hum 
and  drive  of  a  vast  industry.  The  old  religious  establishment, 
which  had  its  spiiitual  sway  and  its  physical  influence  a 
thousand  years  ago,  seemed  to  exercise  a  soothing  power  over 
the  scene.  There  was  a  hush,  even  in  the  voice  of  men,  and 
schoolboy  cries  had  a  softer  sound.  I  am  passing  by  Bishop's 
Court ;  and  there,  looking  down  pleasingly  on  the  bright  flowers 
in  the  garden,  is  the  spare  form  we  know  so  well.  Mrs.  OUivant 
is  with  him,  in  mourning.  Death  has  touched  them  keenly ; 
they  have  come  forth,  even  as  the  himiblest,  each  to  say,  with 
eyes  uplifted,^"  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done." 

*  *  *  * 

An  autumnal  day  :  the  Cathedral  is  filled.  Llandaflf  villagers 
and  farmers,  and  well-to-do  residents  from  picturesque  villas, 
and  joumeyers  from  Cardiff,  ai-e  here.  There  sits  the  Dean, 
with  the  various  canons  in  the  carved  stalls,  and  when  the  great 
organ  has  thrilled,  and  the  plaintive  voices  of  choristers  attuned 
the  mind  to  reverential  harmony,  the  strain  is  taken  up  by 
the  preacher,  and  the  old  and  never-wearying  homily  given  with 
earnestness  and  with  power.  You  are  never  startled  by  the  flash 
of  eloquence,  never  made  to  ponder  over  new  light  cast  upon 
the  sacred  theme;  but  you  become  impressed  with  the  fact 
that  the  teacher  believes  in  his  teaching  and  that  if  no  marked 
grasp  of  thought  is  shown,  the  mind  exercised  is  clear,  able,  and 
convincing.  There  is  no  resort  to  sensation,  to  picturesque 
contrasts.  The  moods  of  nature,  the  scenes  of  earth  and  sea, 
yield  him  no  graphic  illustration.  JNIan,  and  his  birthright  of 
sin,  his  struggles,  his  temptations,  and  the  eternity  of  his 
reward,  so  runs  the  story ;  and  the  quietly  flowing  stream  of 
blended  reason  and  appeal  is  here  and  there  tinged  with 
feeling  rendered  more  apparent  by  the  venerable  appearance  of 
the  speaker;  for  age,  in  the  exercise  of  its  teaching,  has  a 
pathos — a  thorough  pathos,  of  its  own. 

*  *  *  # 

A  winter's  day.    The  beautiful  flowers  are  gone,  and  the  tinted 
leaves  have  been  swept  away.    A  keen  mud  blows  over  cropped 


THREE  SCENES  AT  LLANDAFF.  89 

meadow  and  newly  ploughed  field,  and,  blowing  between 
avenues  of  leafless  trees,  sweeps  down  into  the  Cathedral 
precincts.  By  the  side  of  the  marble  monument  which  tells  of 
the  promising  barrister,  young  OUivant,  cut  down  in  his  prime, 
there  is  a  new-made  grave,  in  which  the  mourner,  the  preacher, 
is  to  be  laid  all  reverently  by  his  people.  They  come  from 
the  cosy  parsonages  of  Glamorgan  and  the  bleak  retreats 
amongst  the  mountains,  from  the  Monmouthshire  valleys,  from 
the  great  centres  of  mining  and  iron  working,  from  parishes 
purely  agricultural;  walking  abreast,  true  soldiers  of  the 
faith,  following  the  dead  chieftain,  who,  for  nearly  half  a 
century,  had  led  them  to  do  battle  against  ignorance  and 
wrong. 

I  am  forcibly  struck  with  the  long  array ;  some  aged,  their 
pilgrimage  nearly  done;  others  in  the  full  prime  of  life  and 
usefiilness ;  and  not  a  few  fresh  from  college,  proud  of  the 
distinctions  which  have  so  recently  been  won.  Canon 
Hawkins  receives  them,  and  his  voice  trembles  with  emotion 
as  he  repeats,  "  We  brought  nothing  into  the  world  ;  we  shall 
take  nothing  out ";  and  so,  with  quiet  step,  they  bear  him  into 
the  Cathedral,  from  whence  the  organ  bursts  forth,  and  the 
waves  of  sacred  song  arise  and  fall.  Then  again  out  into  the 
day ;  and  the  blaster  of  the  Temple,  with  deep  lines  of  feeling 
graven  on  his  face,  lays  his  dead  brother  in  the  gitive,  and  the 
curtain  falls  before  a  life  tliat  was  conspicuous  amongst  a 
thousand  workers  in  the  service  of  God.  So  come  and  pass  the 
scenes  of  life ;  the  tireless  march  of  men,  and  of  nations ;  the 
coming  and  going  of  the  tide ;  the  to-morrows  that  become 
to-days ;  the  suns  that  arise  and  gleam ;  the  sunsets  that  charm ; 
and  never,  this  side  of  the  stars,  are  seen  any  more.  Succession 
the  history  of  the  world  ;  the  history  of  man. 

EDrroR. 


FRED    OLLIVANT, 

LORD  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF, 

Ohk,    December  IC^*,  1882.     JUL  85  years. 


LITERARY  AND  ART  NOTES  OF  THE  MONTH,  Ac 


"  It  is  all  a  mis^take,"  says  Mr.  W.  D.  Howelb,  the  author  of 
A  Modern  /watorw^,  writing  from  "a  retired  place  in  Switzerland." 
He  cannot  recollect  what  he  said  about  Dickens  and  Thackeray ; 
but,  if  he  seems  to  be  disrespectful,  he  must  have  been 
misprinted  or  misunderstood.  As  soon  as  he  sees  the  particular 
number  of  the  Century  Magazine,  on  which  we  made  some 
comments  last  month,  he  will  put  it  all  right.  This  is  as  it 
should  be,  Mr.  Howells. 

A  correspondent  of  Notes  and  Queries  calls  attention  to  the 
danger  which  two  prehistoric  dwellings  at  Chysauster, 
Cornwall,  are  now  jilaced  in  from  local  vandalism.  Both  are 
among  the  most  interesting  remains  of  the  Comu-Britons^ 
that  are  possibly  prehistoric,  one  being  a  most  ancient  relic 
of  the  Brito-Celtic  church. 

The  author  of  a  recently-  published  book,  entitled  Nonvay  in 
June,  maintains  that  several  specimens  of  Norsk  ornamentation 
examined  by  her  were  of  a  distinctly  Celtic  character. 

Dean  Vaughan,  of  Llandaff,  who  has  just  published  a  volume 
of  sermons  on  the  Revised  Version  of  the  New  Testament,  has 
received  a  regular  "slating"  at  the  hands  of  a  critic  in  the 
Aca^demy. 

Although  adding  in  no  way  to  the  Laureate's  reputation, 
"The  Promise  of  May,"  as  a  drama,  appears  to  have  been 
considerably  over-damned  by  the  London  critics. 

The  Marquis  of  Bute  has  lent  to  the  Department  of  Science 
and  Art,  for  exhibition  in  the  Bethnal  Green  Museum,  the 
whole  of  his  collection  of  pictures,  some  years  since  removed 
from  Luton  House.  The  collection,  formed  by  the  third  Earl  of 
Bute,  is  particularly  rich  in  Low  Country  pictAres,  and  includes 
some  excellent  examples  of  Subens,  Snyders,  Vandyck, 
Metsu,  Jan  Steen,  Teniers,  Van  Ostade,  Hobbema,  Wouver- 
mans,  Kuysdael,  Paul  Veronese,  Salvator  Uosa,  Poussin, 
Velasquez,  and  others. 

To  the  Oi/rVs  Own  Paper  for  December,  Madame  Edith 
Wjmne  contributes  an  article  filled  vrith  useful  hints  on 
**  Singing  Sacred  Music."  She  advises  a  perusal  of  Mr.  Spencer 
Carwen^s  remarks  on  "Welsh  Congregational  Singing,"  which 


LITERARY   AND    ART   NOTES.  91 

appeared  in  the  May  number  of  the  Sunday  at  Home^  to  those 
who  would  have  an  idea  of  the  love  of  music,  and  more 
esi>ecially  singing,  innate  with  the  ^^'elsh  people. 

*'  It  was  at  the  chapel  which  our  family  attended,"  writes 
Madame  Wynne,  ^  that  I  made  my  first  essays  to  sing,  at  the 
early  age  of  nine  years.  I  made  my  first  a})i)earance  at  a 
concert  of  the  Harmonic  Society  in  the  small  town  where  I  was 
bom.     In  1862  I  made  my  debut  in  I^ondon,"  &c. 

*'  Welsh  hymnal  music,"  she  goes  on  to  say,  "  is  invariably 
written  in  the  minor  key.  The  sad  notes  bury  tliemselves  in 
the  soul  and  remain  there,  and  ever  and  anon  their  echo  guides 
us  on  to  better  tilings." 

We  believe  we  are  right  in  claiming  Madame  Wynne,  a 
Welshwoman,  as  a  child  of  that  great  Welsh  institution,  the 
Eisteddfod  ;  and,  so  thinking,  we  are  sorry  that,  among  so  many 
particulars  concerning  herself  as  are  fiunished  in  this  article,^ 
she  should  not  have  given  more  on  this  imi)ortant  subject. 

Incidentally,  however,  the  Eisteddfod  receives  mention.  "  An 
over-trained  voice,"  says  the  ^Titer,  "  is  very  painful  to  listen 
to.  C)ne  fancies  that  the  singer  is  affected,  and  that  she 
carries  her  affectation  with  her  into  her  singing.  Some  years 
ago  I  was  present  at  one  of  our  Welsh  Eisteddfodau.  The 
judges  appointed  to  test  the  powers  of  some  twenty  or  thirty 
girls  in  a  particular  air  from  one  of  the  oratorios  selected  two 
from  among  the  number,  and  awai-ded  the  first  prize  to  a  girl 
who  sang  the  best.  The  voice  of  the  other  was  more 
sympathetic,  but,  in  consequence  of  not  being  properly  trained, 
she  was  deficient  in  tone,  and  so  lost  the  prize.  The  winner,, 
encouraged  by  her  success,  studied  in  Ix)ndon,  and  is  now  pro- 
gressing favourably  in  her  profession." 

As  the  editor  of  the  National  Magazine  of  Wales,  we  should 
have  been  much  pleased  had  the  name  of  this  young  Welsh  girl 
been  given. 

**  A  Welsh  Poet  Preacher"  is  the  title  of  an  article  in  the 
December  number  of  the  Sunday  at  Home,  from  the  pen  of 
Mr.  J.  B.  French,  who  contributes  some  interesting  reminis- 
cences of  the  late  Rev.  Thomas  Jones,  of  Morriston,  near 
Swansea.  Originally  a  Welsh  collier  boy,  Jones  was  ordained 
minister  of  Bryn  Chapel,  Llanelly,  which  he  left  for  the 
pastorate  of  the  United  Churches  of  Hennon  and  Tabor,  near 
Llandilo.  He  afterwards  transferred  his  labours  to  Morriston, 
whence,  in  1858,  he  removed  to  I^ondon,  to  become  minister  of 
Albany  Chapel,  Regent's  Park.  He  afterwards  accepted  charge 
of  Bedford  Chapel,  Camden  Town,  to  which  his  eloquence 
attiBoted  overflowing  congregations,  amongst  whom  might  have 
been  dificovered  such  men  as  the  venerable  Dr.  I^eifchild,  James 
Straiten,  Professor  Godwin,  Dr.  Young  (author  of  the  "  Ciuist  of 
Hifltof^  ^),  and  aome  of  the  principal  literary  \)eop\e  oi  tW  Ascj^ 
ia^ndwg  BeAert  Brownings  the  poet. 


^  LITERAKY  AND  ART  NOTES. 

In  1871  the  Rev.  Thomas  Jones  iras  elected  chairman  of  the 
Congregational  Union  of  England  and  Wales.  Failing  health 
sobseqaentlj  induced  his  removal  to  Austialia,  where  he 
obtained  the  pastorate  of  the  important  chorch  of  Collins 
Street,  Melboome.  In  a  little  while,  however,  he  letomed  to 
Swansea,  as  he  himself  expressed  it,  ^  to  rest  a  little  and  die.^ 
Early  in  the  summer  of  this  year,  and  within  a  fortnight  of  a 
**  Flower  .Service **  he  had  conducted,  rest  came  to  him — ^the 
rest  of  an  eternity. 

Siieaking  of  him  the  day  after  his  death,  a  brother  minister, 
the  Rev.  Evan  Thomas,  of  Swansea,  said  ^*  he  was  one  of  the 
sweetest  preachers  that  Wales,  the  land  of  preachers,  ever 
produced.  He  was  of  the  Williams,  of  Wem,  and  Dr.  Rees,  of 
Chester,  class — poet-jireachers.  Mr.  Jones  gloried  in  the  work 
4)f  the  ministry,  and  would  not  exchange  his  ministerial  wand, 
as  he  often  said,  for  the  prince's  sceptre.'' 

Mr.  Lewis  Morris,  the  author  of  "  Epic  of  Hadea^  has  con- 
tributeil  to  the  December  number  of  li&ngmaiVs  Magazine  a 
jjoem,  entitled  ^  The  Orphan  Girl  of  I^nnion,''  a  Breton  ballad, 
after  the  original  text.  The  i>eculiar  and  somewhat  difficult 
metre  chosen  is  handled  with  ease,  and  the  touches  of  natural 
pity  that  liave  been  given  to  the  subject  quite  hide  all  that  may 
be  inherently  [>ainful  in  it.  The  ending — indeed,  the  very  last 
line — is  the  only  feulty  part  of  the  piece. 

A  Welsh  translation  of  the  Ballad  will  appear  in 
Y  Traethodydd.  An  excellent  translation  has  already  been 
published  in  the  Genedl  Gynireig. 

If  proof  were  required  of  the  j)opularity  of  Mr.  Lewis  Morris's 
poetry,  it  will  be  found  in  the  announcement  which  has  been 
made  that  the  new  edition  of  his  works,  published  last  month, 
has  already  been  exhausted.  Another  edition  will  be  ready 
immediately. 

In  the  "  Friendships  of  Mary  Russell  Mitford,"  reviewed  in 
another  column,  appears  a  letter  from  William  Howitt,  the 
well-known  author  of. the  "Rural  Life  of  England"  from 
which  an  extract  may  be  made  that  will  interest  our 
readers.  It  should  be  first  explained  that,  to  collect  materials 
for  his  work,  Howitt  visited  various  portions  of  the  Principality. 
In  the  letter  before  us,  dated  Nottingham,  January  30th,  1835, 
he  sj^eaks  of  having  "  crossed  from  Ilfracombe  to  Swansea,  and 
•HlM^nt  a  week  most  delightfully  in  the  Vale  of  Neath.  If  you 
have  not  seen  the  gardens  and  orangery  at  Margam,"  he  adds, 
addressing  the  little  lady  of  Our  Village^  "you  have  not  seen  what 
would  clmrm  all  England,  through  the  medium  of  your  pen." 
The  venerable  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Glamorganshire,  and  father 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  remembers  the  visit  well  enough,  we 
have  no  doubt. 

The  last  published  report  of  the  Swansea  Free  Library  has  a 


LITERARY   AND   ART   NOTES.  9^ 

hopeful  tone  about  it.  The  reference  department  shows  steady 
growth  and  increasing  usefulness,  but  the  returns  of  the 
central  lending  library,  and  the  branch  at  Morriston,  show  a 
the  slight  decrease  in  the  number  of  borrowers,  and  of  the  number 
of  volumes  issued,  as  com^wired  with  the  i)revious  year.  The 
decrease  in  the  latter  case  is  attributed  to  the  want  of  a 
supplemental  catalogue,  which  is  now  almost  ready  for 
publication. 

Among  other  works  by  the  late  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti,  on 
exhibition  at  the  Royal  Acadamy,  will  be  included  the  altar- 
piece  of  Llandaff  Cathedral.  The  exhibition  is  strictly  limited 
to  important  and  characteristic  examples  of  the  artist.  This 
altar-piece  is  a  triptych,  called  "  The  seed  of  David,"  and  is 
lent  by  the  Dean  and  Chapter. 

Serjeant  Pulling,  well  known  on  the  South  Wales  circuit, 
has  in  the  press  an  elaborate  work,  entitled  The  Ordei'  of  the 
Coif.  It  will  be  in  super  royal  octavo,  and  will  contain  a 
considerable  number  of  engravings.  An  outline  of  the  book 
appeared  in  the  Edinhtrgh  Mevie^v  for  November,  1877,  but 
its  publication  has  been  delayed,  pending  the  opening  of  the 
new  Palace  of  Justice  at  Westminster,  in  order  to  enable  the 
author  to  bring  his  information  down  to  the  latest  date. 

Having  founded  his  Celtic  chair  at  Edinburgh,  emmtua 
Professor  Blackie  is  now  advocating  the  provision  of  a  Celtic 
travelling  fellowship  of  the  value  of  not  less  than  £100  a  year. 

Mr.  B.  S.  Marks  has  issued  invitations  for  a  private  view  at 
his  studio,  40,  Fitzroy  Square,  of  the  portrait  which  he  has 
painted  of  the  late  Joseph  Edwards,  and  which  he  intends  to 
[»resent  to  the  Cymmrodorion  Society. 

Anart,or  rather  an  antiquarian,  jotting  of  considerable  interest 
to  the  r^ulers  of  the  National  Magazine  of  Wales  is  supplied  by 
theAthencewnCa  statement,  that  it  is  the  intention  of  the  Midland 
Bailway  Company  to  carry  a  bridge  over  the  Wye,  close  to 
Tintem  Abbey,  so  that  the  beautiful  and  perfect  combination 
of  the  tranquil  river  and  the  ruined  Cistercian  Church  will  be 
destroyed*  The  Midland  scheme,  it  is  said,  contemplates  this 
outrage  as  part  of  an  attempt  to  oust  the  Great  Western 
Bailway  Company  from  the  traflSc  of  South  Wales.  We  call 
attention  to  the  report,  and  trust  there  is  no  tnith  in  it.  Such 
an  attempt  is  sure  to  be  resisted  to  the  utmost.  This  glorious  old 
pile  is  believed  to  have  been  erected  on  the  spot  where  Theodoric, 
King  of  Glamorgan,  fell  fighting  against  the  pagan  Saxons,  in 
600.  The  king^s  peJace  and  a  Druidic  temple  are  believed  to 
have  been  erected  close  by.  The  Abbey  was  founded  about 
1148,  and  remained  a  home  of  the  Cistercian  Order  for  at  least 
SOOyears, 


DRACOXIGEN^. 


A  New  York  pai)er  remarks  that  it  kuows  an  enterprising 
individual  who  intends  to  open  a  bank — as  soon  as  lie  can  borrow 
a  crowbar.. 


«  * 


A  man  sentenced  to  be  hanged  prayed  for  a  reprieve  on  the 
^*ound  that  he  had  a  sore  throat,  which  rendered  him  unfit  for 
the  operation  of  hanging.  He  feared,  he  said,  that  the  most 
alarming  consequences  might  ensue  if  he  were  lianged  in  his 
present  condition. 


•  « 


At  one  of  our  common  schools,  the  teacher,  in  catechising  liis 
scholars,  put  the  following  question  : — "  What  was  made  to  give 
light  to  the  world  ?"  "  Matches,"  cried  one  of  the  youngsters, 
after  a  short  pause. 


*  * 


The  wonders  of  corn-cutting  will  never  cerise.  The  other  day 
a  travelling  chiropodist  extracted,  not  only  all  the  com  from  a 
gentleman's  stable,  but  actually  succeeded  in  removing  a  Bunyan 
fi-om  a  book-case  without  the  owner  being  at  all  aware  of  it. 


« 


In  a  dispute  between  a  brewer  and  a  toper  the  former  said, 
*'  ril  he  your  butt  no  longer."  "  With  all  my  heart,"  said  the 
latter ;  "  I  never  liked  an  empty  one." 


* 
«  * 


The  reason  that  aesthetes  so  admire  the  stork  is  that  he  can 
stand  for  hours  on  one  leg  and  look  as  though  he  didn't  want 
to. 


"  A  confirmed  tobacco  chewer,"  says  a  contemporary,  "chews, 
in  fifty  years,  one  mile  and  a  quarter  in  length  of  tobacco*'' 
The  width,  we  presume,  will  be  that  of  an  ordinary  turnpike. 


DRACONIGENiE.  95 

ThosJe  who  have  been  suflSciently  fortunate  to  obtain  a  glimpse 
4>f  the  sun  describe  his  disc  as  marked  with  a  sjwt  of  unusual 
magnitude,  which  was  quite  visible  to  the  naked  eye  through 
the  fogs  that  prevailed  on  many  days  in  the  month.  It  is 
<lesoribed  as  of  enormous  dimensions,  though  not  approaching 
anything  like  the  size  of  some  which  have  been  observed  in 
^•oraparatively  recent  times.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  spot,  or 
collection  of  s]:)ots,  covers  a  superficial  area  of  something  like 
!^,3o6,846,000  square  miles,  and  is  39,440  miles  in  breadth  by 
.59,755  miles  in  length ;  about  the  biggest  beauty  spot  we  know 

# 

At  the  close  of  a  tavern  dinner,  two  of  the  company  fell 
4lown  stairs,  the  one  tumbling  to  the  first  landing-place,  and 
the  other  rolling  to  the  bottom.  Someone  remarked  that  the 
first  seemed  very  dnmk.  "  Yes,"  observed  a  wag  ;  "  but  he  is 
not  so  far  gone  as  the  gentleman  below." 

Never  enter  a  sick  room  in   a  state  of  perspiration,  as,  the 

moment  you  become  cool,  your  pores  absorb.     Do  not  approach 

contagious  diseases  with  an  empty  stomach,    nor  sit  between 

the  sick  and  the  fire,  because  the  heat  attracts  the  thin  vaiK)ur. 

« 
«  # 

It  was  the  custom  of  each  jjrofessor  to  receive,  at  his  own 
house,  the  fees  from  the  new  pupil.  One  day,  Dr.  Gregory, 
thus  engaged,  had  used  all  his  blank  tickets,  and  was  obliged 
to  go  into  an  adjoining  a^mrtment  to  procure  one  for  a  student 
whom  he  had  left  sitting  in  his  consulting-room.  The 
accumulated  money  was  lying  on  the  table,  and  from  this  sum, 
as  he  was  re-entering  the  room,  he  saw  the  young  man  sweej) 
a  portion,  and  deposit  it  in  his  pocket.  Doctor  Gregory  took 
his  seat  at  the  table  as  if  nothing  had  occurred,  filled  up  the 
ticket,  and  gave  it  to  the  delinquent.  He  then  accompanied 
him  to  the  door,  and  when  at  the  threshold,  with  much 
emotion,  said  to  him,  ^^  I  saw  what  you  did  just  now ;  keep 
the  money ;  I  know  not  what  must  be  your  distress ;  but,  for 
Ood's  sake,  don't  do  it  again;  it  never  can  succeed."  The 
pnpil  in  vain  offered  him  back  the  money;  and  the  Doctor 
had  the  satisfoction  of  kno?ring  that  his  moral  lesson  produced 
the  desired  impression  on  his  mind.-  -Life  of  Astley  Cooper. 

• 

A  Lawyer's  bill  ran  thus :  — Attending  you,  and  asking  you 
how  y<m  did,  Ss.  8d. ;  attending  you  on  the  pier,  when  you 
deoied  me  to  look  through  a  piece  of  smoked  glass,  6s.  8d. ; 
looking  through  the  same,  Gs.  8d. ;   rubbing  my  eyes^  wbiclx 


96  DBACONIGENiE. 

watered,  13s.  4d. ;  attending  at  luncheon,  when  you  praised  the 
sandwiches  and  asked  me  to  take  some,  Gs.  8d. ;  consulting 
and  asking  my  opinion  thereon,  when  I  said  they  were  very 
good,  6s.  8d.— Total  £2  68.  8d. 

#  # 
The  most  appalling  case  of  deafness  that  we  ever  met,  out- 
side of  an  asylum,  was  that  of  an  old  lady  who  lives  across 
the  street  from  the  arsenal  yard.  On  a  royal  birthday,  they 
fired  a  salute  of  21  guns.  The  old  lady  was  observed  to  start 
and  listen,  as  the  last  gun  was  fired,  when  she  exclaimed, 
"Come  in." 

«  * 
Two  natives  of  the  Marquesas  Island  have  been  carried  to 
France.  The  story  runs,  that  on  the  voyage  one  of  their  fellow- 
passengers  asked  which  they  liked  best,  the  French  or  the 
English?  "The  English,"  answered  the  man,  smacking  hi& 
lips  "  they  are  the  fettest."  "  And  a  great  deal  more  tender," 
chimed  in  the  woman,  with  a  grin  that  exhibited  two  rows  of 
pointed  teeth,  as  sharp  as  a  crocodile's. 


« 


Fame  is  like  a  shaved  pig  with  a  greased  tail,  and  it  is  only 
after  it  has  slipi>ed  through  the  hands  of  some  thousands,  that 
some  fellow,  by  good  luck,  holds  on  to  it. 


#  # 


A  learned  doctor  has  given  it  as  his  oj^inion  that  tight-lacing 
is  a  public  benefit,  inasmuch  as  it  kills  all  the  foolish  girils, 
and  leaves  the  wise  ones  to  grow  into  women. 


DOUBLE  ACROSTIC. 


Saint  George*8  antit^'pe — *twaR  his  to  Blay, 
Thine  to  create  anew  in  later  d<iy. 

1. — ^Thy  loss  shall  Gwalia  monm  each  Sabbath  daj, 
Unless,  like  wise  men*8  wrath,  thou^rt  stowed  awajr. 

2. — Thou  shalt  the  faithful  son  of  Islam's  roM 
In  Paradise  receive  with  soft  embrace. 

8. — Most  useful  servant,  oft  dost  thou  deprave 
Thy  yielding  master  to  become  thy  sSave. 

4. — ^A  castle  standing  in  a  narrow  square, 
And  captured  by  a  single  knight  with  care. 

5. — In  foreign  lands  a  beggar  tribe  are  they, 
Subsisting  but  on  alms  from  day  to  day. 

6. — A  fairy  sprite  in  legendary  lore, 

By  Scott  and  Shakspeare  mentioned  o'er  and  o'er. 

7. — ^A  ragged  rabble,  eager  to  defy 

All  law's  restraints,  with  Phrygian  cap  on  high. 

Sphikz. 


Jam£s  Howell. 

From  a  Paintinc     bv  Hollar. 


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NOTABLE    MEN    Of    AVALES. 


JAMES   HOWKLL. 


It  is  not  intencltnl  here  to  enlarges  upon  what  lias  alromlv 
be€*n  written  by  others,  but  rather  to  make  copious  extracts  from 
Howell's  own  literary  works,  so  as  to  furnish  the  reader  with  an 
autobiography.  Born  at  Cefn-y-bryn,  in  the  parisli  of  Llan- 
gammarch,  in  the  county  of  Brecon,  in  the  year  1.394,  Howell 
nays  he  was  "one  child  of  fifteen."  His  father,  Thomas  Howell, 
was  at  that  time  curate  of  the  parisli.  Not  long  after  this  his 
father  was  promoted  to  the  vicarage  of  Abemant  and  Cynwyl 
Klvet,  in  the  county  of  Carmarthen,  and  not  to  Cynwyl  Gaio, 
as  erroneously  stated  by  Jones  in  his  Histoid  of  BreclciLockehlvPy 
and  others  who  copied  him.  Cynwyl  Elvet  is  8upi)0sed  to  hav** 
be(?n  the  station  of  the  vanguard,  or  "forward  watch,"  of 
Helvetius,  as  that  of  Caio  was  that  of  Caius.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
the  name  of  Thomas  Howell  may  be  seen  this  day  on  one  of  the 
bells  in  one  of  the  turrets  of  Cjmwyl  Elvet  Church ;  besides, 
Abemant  and  Cynwyl  Elvet  are  annexed  and  consolidated  livings. 

The  father  took  up  his  abod'»  at  a  ]>lace  in  the  parish  of 
Abemant,  called  Bryn  or  (in  full  Hryn-y-Caerau,  which,  as  its 
name  implies,  was  a  residence  scuiewhat  above  the  ordinary 
dwellings  in  that  locality.  From  tins  James  Howell,  with  his 
brother  Thomas,  afterwaJrds  Bishop  of  Bristol,  were  sent  to  tht* 
Cathedral  School  at  Hereford,  where  they  received  the  elements 
of  an  excellent  education.  James,  writing  to  his  father  in  the 
year  1618,  before  he  first  went  abroad,  and  asking  for  his 
fiather^s  blessing,  "  thanked  him  for  the  care  he  had  taken  of 
hiniy  in  placing  him  in  a  choice  methodical  school  so  far  distant 
from  his  dwelling,  under  a  learned,  though  lashing^  master." 
Hereford  then  was  as  far  distant  from  W  ales  as  London  is  at 
the  present  day.  No  doubt  the  "lashing"  master  prepared 
well  nis  pupil  before  he  was  transplanted  for  the  completion  of 
his  severer  studies  at  Oxford.  He  entered  Jesus  College  in 
that  University,  and  took  his  degree  in  due  course  of  tinn*. 

After  qnittinff  his  Alma  Mater  he  found  employment  through 
the  inflnence  of  Sir  Bobert  Mansell  (Vice-Admiral  of  England), 

G 


James  Howell. 

M  A  Painting     bv  Hollar. 


i)8  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

Lord  Pembroke,  "and  divers  others  of  the  prime  Lords  of  the 
Court,"  as  superintendent  of  a  G lass-House  in  Broad  Street, 
London,  the  company  owning  which  had  got  the  sole  patent  for 
^'  making  glass  of  all  sorts  with  pit  coal."  Howell,  however, 
was  not  here  long,  for  of  this  appointment  he  writes  to  his 
father,  "  Had  I  continued  still  steward  of  the  Glass-House  in 
Broad  Street,  where  Captain  Francis  Bacon  hath  succeeded  me,  I 
should  have  melted  away  to  nothing  amongst  those  hot 
Venetians.  It  hath  pleased  God  to  dispose  of  me  now  to  a 
condition  more  suitable  to  my  years."  In  the  year  1618 
Howell  began  his  travels  abroad.  Before  he  quitted  his  native 
country  we  find  him  writing  in  afifectionate  terms  to  the  learned 
Doctor  Mansell,  Principal  of  Jesus  College,  Oxford,  as  follows: — 
"  Sir, — Being  about  to  take  leave  of  England  and  launch  out 
into  the  world  to  breathe  foreign  air  for  awhile,  I  thought  it 
very  handsome*,  and  an  act  of  well-being  in  me  to  tiikc*  my 
leave  also  of  you  and  of  my  dearly  honoured  Mother  Oxford ; 
otherwise  both  of  you  might  have  just  groimds  to  exhibit  a  bill 
of  complaint,  or  rather  a  protest  against  me,  and  cry  me  up — 
yoiv  for  a  forgetful  frier  d,  she  for  an  ungrateful  son,  if  not  of 
some  spurious  issue."  He  further  relates  to  the  learned 
Doctor  that  his  new  employment  affords  him  opportunity  to 
study  7}ien  as  well  as  books.  "  The  small  time  I  8Uper\'ised  the 
Glass-House,"  he  continues,  ''I  got  among  the  Venetians 
some  smattering  of  the  Italian  tongue,  which,  besides  the  little 
I  have,  you  know,  of  school  language,  is  all  the  preparation  I 
have  made  for  travel.  I  have  got  a  warrant  from  the  Ix)rds  of 
the  Council  to  travel  for  three  years  anywhere,  Rome  and 
St.  Omer  excepted." 

On  St.  David's  Day  of  the  same  year  Howell  informs  his 
father  that  at  the  latter  end  of  this  week  "  I  am  to  go  on  ship- 
board, and  first  for  the  Low  Countries,  1  humbly  pray 
your  blessing  may  accompany  me  in  these  my  travels  by  land 
and  sea,  with  a  continuance  of  your  prayers,  which  will  be  so 
many  gales  to  blow  me  to  safe  port.  For  I  have  been  taught 
that  the  parents^  benedictions  contribute  much,  and  have  a 
kind  of  prophetic  virtue  to  make  a  child  prosperous."  Before  a 
man  sets  out  for  a  foreign  land  Howell  recommends  him  to 
begin  his  journey  under  the  good  auspices  of  Heaven — A  Jove 
princissiitm,  sicferet  antennas  aura  secunda  tuas. 

[**  Bogin  with  Jove,  then  an  anspiciouB  gale 
Will  fill  thy  Hails,  and  to  8afe  harbour  hale/'  ] 

He  further  cousels  that  a  man,  before  he  embarks  for  a  foreign 
country,  "  should  be  well  grounded  and  settled  in  his  religion, 
the  beginning  and  basis  of  all  wisdom,  and  somewhat  versed  in 
the  controversies  betwixt  us  and  foreign  churches.  So  that 
when  be  sees  the  indecencies,  irreverence,  and  bold  profime 
jxystures  in  some  churches,  such  an  one  IIl^.^x«Lt^iex\ifecolifi^^led 


JAMES  HOWELL.  99 

than  shaken  in  his  own  faith.**  Howell  had  always  been 
"  transx)orted  with  a  desire  to  travel,,  and  not  to  be  bound  or 
confined  within  the  shores  and  nan-ow  circumferences  of  an 
Island."  He  did  **  not  love  to  hover  about  home,  I3  ing  still,  as 
it  were,  at  anchor,  moving  no  further  than  the  length  of  the 
cable,  whereunto  a  man  is  tied.  Such  an  one,"  he  says,  *'  was 
he  of  whom  Claudian  speaks  to  have  had  his  births  bi'eedhtg, 
and  burial  in  one  parish.  Such  slow  and  sluggish  spirits,"  he 
adds,  "  may  be  said  to  be  like  snails,  or  tortoises  in  shells, 
crawling  always  about  in  their  own  home.  Those  who  go 
about,"  he  adds,  *'  mingle  with  those  refined  nations,  whose 
learning  and  knowledge  did  first  urbanise  and  polish ;  and  now, 
as  all  other  things  by  a  kind  of  secret  instinct  of  nature  follow 
the  motion  of  the  sun,  so  it  is  observed  that  the  aiin  and 
scienceSj  which  are  the  greatest  helps  to  civility  and  all  moral 
endowments,  as  well  as  intellectual,  have  wheeled  about  and 
travelled  in  a  kind  of  concomitant  motion  with  that  of  the 
great  luminary  of  heaven."  Yxom  some  such  notion,  and 
perhaps  from  this  very  passage,  the  late  Carnhuanawc  caught 
the  idea  which  he  embodied  and  presented  to  the  world  as  one 
of  his  last  productions,  called  the  Kyffrawd^  or,  as  the  author 
translated  it,  "  Intellectual  Excitement."  The  learned  author 
of  the  History  of  Wales^  in  a  conversation  with  him,  told  the 
writer  of  this  memoir  that  he  sujiposed  the  Kyfrawd  was  then 
in  its  course  in  Scotland.  Probably,  had  that  great  genius  lived 
until  after  the  Elementary  Education  Act  had  passed,  he  would 
have  admitted  that  some  "  Intellectual  Excitement "  liad  found 
its  way  into  England  and  Wales. 

Howell,  having  now  quitted  the  shores  of  England,  landed  at 
Amsterdam,  "  the  first  foreign  earth,"  he  says,  "  I  have  ever  set 
my  foot  upon."  He  writes  to  his  brother,  that  he  was  "  [)itifully 
sick  all  the  voyage,  for  the  weather  was  so  rough  ;  and  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Texel  we  were  surprised  by  a  furious  tempest,  for 
the  ship  was  like  to  split  upon  some  old  stumps  of  trees,  where- 
with that  river  is  full."  From  here  he  corresponded  with  many 
friends  in  England,  among  the  nmnber  being  Daniel  Caldwell, 
Esq.,  between  whom  and  himself  a  friendship  appears  to  have 
been  contracted  at  Oxford,  where  both  were  undergraduates. 
Howell,  indeed,  reminds  his  fiiend  :  "  Our  first  league  of  love 
was  contracted  at  Oxford  among  the  MuseSy  for  no  sooner  was  I 
matriculated  to  her  but  I  was  adopted  to  you ;  I  became  her 
son  and  your  friend  at  the  same  time.  I  followed  you  up  to 
London,  where  our  love  received  confirmation  at  the  Temple. 
Difltaaoe  endears  fiiendship.  Let  this  be  verified  in  us ;  that 
is,  let  the  pen  supply  the  office  of  the  tongue."  From  the  same 
town  he  writes  to  his  fiither,  whom  he  never  neglected:  ^^  I  ^\si 
lodged  in  a  Frendmian'i?  lioose,  who  is  one  of  the  deacoti^  ol  owt 
Jtag^kb  Bnnmmt'a  Cburcb  here.  There  be  as  many  reUgwy 

G  2 


100  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

as  there  be  houses.  And  let  this  country  call  itself  as  long  as  it 
will  the  United  Provinces  one  way,  I  am  persuaded  in  this  point, 
there  is  no  place  so  disunited,''^ 

From  here  he  proceeded  to  Leyden;  and  from  thence  he 
writes  to  Doctor  Thomas  Pritchard,  at  Jesus  College,  Oxfonl, 
informing  him  of  the  University  there,  "  to  which  nations  of  all 
sorts,  Crermans  in  particular,  resort.  To  compare  their  University 
to  yours  were  to  cast  New  Inn  into  counter-scale  with  Christ 
Church  College.  The  heaven  here,"  he  continues,  "  has 
some  cloud  ever  in  his  countenance,  and  from  this  grossness  and 
spissitude  of  air  j^roceeds  the  slow  nature  of  the  inhabitants." 
From  Leyden  he  proceeded  to  the  Hague,  '*  the  Court  of  the  six 
(and  almost  seven)  of  the  confederated  provinces.  The  Council  of 
State  •  here  assemble  with  the  Prince  of  Orange,  who  takes  up 
his  residence  here.  He  dines  punctually  about  twelve  o'clock, 
and  his  table  is  free  to  all  comers,  but  to  none  under  the  degree 
of  C-aptain."  From  this  town  he  took  his  departure  to  Middle- 
burgh,  in  Zealand,  whence  he  writes,  to  Captain  Francis  Bacon, 
"  that  the  bearer  of  his  letter  is  Sig.  Antonio  Miotti,  who  was 
master  of  the  glass  furnace  here,  and  is  one  of  the  ablest  and 
most  knowing  men  for  guidance  of  glass  work."  As  an  agent 
for  the  glass  company,  he  was  looking  out  for  skilful  and  com- 
petent men.  By  this  time  he  found  himself  at  Antwerp,  **  a 
city,  metliinks,"  he  says,  "  which  looks  like  a  disconsolate  widow, 
or,  rather,  a  superannuated  virgin  that  hath  lost  her  lover,  being 
almost  bereft  of  flourishing  commerce."  From  thence  he 
wended  his  way  to  Rouen,  from  which  city  he  writes  to  Doctor 
Thomas  Pritchard,  at  Oxford :  '*  I  am  but  a  freshman  yet  in 
France ;  therefore  I  cannot  send  you  much  news.  I  pray 
present  my  service  to  Sir  Eubule  Theloal,  and  send  me  word 
witli  what  pace  Jesus  College  new  walls  go  up.  I  will  borrow 
my  conclusion  to  you  at  this  time  of  my  countryman  Owen : — 

ITno  non  possum  quantum  te  diligo  versu 
Dicere  ;  si  satis  est  distichou,  ecce  duos. 

I  cannot  in  one  verse  my  love  declare  ; 

If  two  will  serve  the  turn,  lo,  here  they  are." 

From  Rouen,  also,  he  writes  his  friend  Daniel  Caldwell,  Esq.,  and 
says  :  "  When  I  came  to  this  town,  among  other  objects  I  found  a 
letter  of  yours.  It  was  a  she  letter,  for  two  more  were  enwombed 
in  her  body.  She  had  a  quick  deliverance  of  the  twin  ;  but,  besides 
them,  she  was  big  and  pregnant  of  divers  sweet  pledges  and 
liveh'  evidence  of  your  love  towards  me." 

He  now  took  leave  of  Rouen  and  made  his  way  to  Paris,  from 
whence  he  writes  to  another  friend,  Richard  Altham,  Esq.  (1620), 
and  reminds  him  that  "  letters  are  the  marrow  of  firiendsbip, 
and  the  best  fuel  of  affection."  During  his  sojourn  in  Paris  it 
seems  that  he  had  been  in  danger  of  his  life.  He  thus  describes 
tbe  affair:  ^'I  was  like  to  endanger  my  life  two  nights  ago ;  for 


JA:\lKy  IIOWKLL.  101 

being  in  some  jovial  company  abroad,  and  coming  Into  to  oin- 
lo<lging,  we  were  suddenly  surprised  by  a  crew  of  Filuns,  (»r 
night  rogues^  who  drew  upon  us,  and  as  we  had  exchanged  some 
blows  it  pleased  God  the  Chevalier  du  (juet,  an  officer  who  goes 
u]»  and  down  the  streets  all  niglit  on  horseback  to  prevent 
disorders,  passed  b}',  and  so  rescued  us ;  but  Jack  White  was 
hurt,  and  I  had  two  tlirusts  in  my  cloak.  There  is  never," 
he  adds,  "  a  night  but  some  robbing  or  murder  takes  place  in  this 
town."  On  the  8th  of  September,  1620,  Howell  infonns  his 
brother:  "lam  to  part  witli  Paris  and  begin  my  journey  to 
Spain."  Instead  of  taking  the  direct  route  to  that  country,  he 
went  down  to  Bouen,  and  through  all  Normandy  to  a  little  port, 
called  Granville,  where  he  embarked  for  the  town  of  St.  Malo. 
From  here  he  writes  to  his  cousin,  W.  Vaughan,  Esq.,  and  says : 
"'  Since  I  came  to  this  province  I  was  curious  to  converse  with 
some  of  the  lower  Britons,  who  speak  no  other  language  but  our 
Wtlsh^  for  their  radical  words  are  no  other ;  and  it  is  no  wondt*r, 
for  they  were  a  colony  of  Welsh  at  Hrst,  as  tlie  name  of  the 
province  doth  imply ;  as  also  the  latin  name  Annorlca^  wliich, 
though  it  pass  for  Latin,  yet  is  pure  Welsh,  and  signifies  a 
country  bortlering  upon  the  «ea." 

From  St.  Malo  he  went  to  Kochel,  of  the  inhabitants  of  which 
he  does  not  speak  very  highly.  In  passing,  he  remarks  "that 
an  Englishman  hath  not  much  cause  to  love  this  town,  thougli 
for  the  recovery  of  which  much  English  treasure  and  blood  were 
spent."  On  November  the  10th  he  set  out  on  foot  over  the 
Pyrenees  to  Spain, and  arrived  at  Barcelona,  "a  proud,  wealthy 
city,  the  metropolis  of  the  kingdom  of  Catalonia."  He  writes 
to  a  friend,  infonning  him  that  next  week  he  intends  *'  passing 
through  Valencia  to  Alicant,  the  chii»f  rendezvous  of  Spain,  for 
I  am  to  send  hence  a  precious  commodity,  called  hariUia^  to  Sir 
Robert  jVIansell,  for  making  of  crystal  glass."  For  this  purposes 
he  travelled  for  the  company.  "  Ilaving  now  t*ndured  the  brunt 
of  a  whole  summer  in  Spain,"  he  writes,  "lam  now  to  direct 
my  course  for  Italy.  I  hoped  to  have  emlmrked  at  Carthagena, 
the  best  port  u^ion  the  Mediterranean.  Thither  gallies  are 
shut  up,  as  it  were,  in  a  box,  from  the  viol(»nce  of  all  weathers, 
which  made  Andrea  Doria,  being  asked  by  Philip  II.  which  wen^ 
the  best  harbours  in  Spain,  answer,  'June  and  July,  and 
Carthagena;'  meaning  that  any  port  is  good  in  those  two  months, 
but  Carthagena  was  good  all  the  year  round." 

From  here,  on  the  5th  of  May,  1621,  he  sailed  for  Venice. 
Writing  to  his  brother,  the  Bishop,  he  says  :  '*  In  tliis  voyage  I 
touched  those  seas  of  which  Horace  and  others  sing  so  often, 
▼iz.,  the  Ionian,  the  iEgean,  the  Icarian,  the  Tyrrhene,  with 
others,  and  now  we  are  in  the  Adrian,  in  the  mouth  whereof 
Venice  stands,  like  a  gold  ring  in  a  bear's  muzzle.  We  passed 
ako  by  ^tna,  hy  the  Infamea  Scopulos,   AcrocetivxmV^)  ^w^ 


102  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

through  Scylla  and  Charybdis.  We  passed  hard  by  Corinth,  now 
Kagusa,  but  I  was  not  so  hap2)y  as  to  touch  there,  for  you  know, 
Non  cuivis  homini  contingit  adire  Corinthym»*  After  hi» 
arrival  at  Venice  he  never  forgot  his  mission.  He  at  once  applied 
himself  to  the  despatch  of  the  business  of  Sir  Robert  Mansell 
aud  others,  whose  agent  he  was.  Two  Italians  were  imme- 
diately shipped  for  England,  "  the  best  gentlemen  workmen,  as 
report  has  it,  that  ever  blew  crystal."  Sir  Henry  Wotton, 
ambassador  there  at  that  time,  was  kinsman  by  marriage  to  Sir 
Robert  Mansell.  From  the  city  of  St.  Mark  he  writes  to  Sir 
Robert :  "  being  brought  to  see  one  of  the  ckirlsaimoa  that 
govern  the  arsenal,  this  huge  storehouse  ;  among  other  matters 
reflecting  on  England,  he  was  saying,  that  if  Cavaglier  Don 
Roberto  Mansell  were  here,  he  thought  verily  the  Republic  would 
galleons  which  to  him  to  be  admiral  of  that  fleet  of  gallies  and 
make  a  proffer  are  now  going  against  the  Duke  of  Ossuna." 

On  July  13,  1621,  Howell  writes  to  his  honoured  friend.  Sir 
John  North,  from  the  maiden  city,  and  says :  "  The  first  office 
of  gratitude  is  to  receive  a  good  tm-n  civilly ;  then  to  retain  it 
in  memory,  and  acknowledge  it ;  and  thirdly,  to  endeavour  a 
re(|uital — for  courtesies  should  be  no  perishable  commodity, 
Venice,"  he  tells  Sir  James  Crofts,  "  was  built  of  the  ruins  of 
Acquileia  and  Padua.  The  inhabitants  of  these  places,  being  a 
soft  voluj)tuous  nation,  after  a  long  desuetude  from  arms,  could 
not  repel  those  swarms  of  tough  northern  people  led  by  Attila 
with  otliers,  many  of  the  ancient  nobility  and  gentry  fled  into 
these  lakes  aud  little  islands  amongst  the  fishermen  for  their 
security.  This  makes  up  the  City  of  Venice."  In  writing  to 
his  friend,  Sir  William  St.  John,  from  the  same  city,  he  says : 
"  Having  seen  Antenor's  tomb  in  Padua,  and  the  amphitheatre 
of  Klaminius  at  Verona,  I  am  now  come  to  Rome,  and  Rome, 
they  say,  is  every  man's  country.  She  is  called  communis 
patria.  It  is  a  common  saying  here,  '  that  as  long  as  the  Pope 
can  finger  the  pen,  he  can  want  no  pence.' "  After  giving  an 
account  of  the  Government  of  Rome,  both  temporal  and  eccle- 
siastical, together  with  a  full  description  of  the  ancient  buildings, 
he  says  he  parted  with  the  Eternal  City  and  went  down  to 
Naples,  a  city  he  described  as  swelling  Avith  delight,  and 
gallantry,  and  wealth.  Their  courtesies  were  such  that  they 
have  passed  into  this  proverb :  "  They  make  strong  masculine 
promises,  but  female  performances ;  for  deeds  are  men,  but 
words  are  women." 

A  little  after  this  Howell  found  his  way  to  Florence,  "  a  city 
so  beautiful  that  the  great  Emperor,  Charles  V.,  said,  that  she 
was  fitting  to  be  seen  and  shown  only  upon  holidaysJ'^  After 
shaking  hands  with  Italy  he  arrived  at  Turin.  To  a  fiiend  he 
thus  writes  :  "  Having  already  seen  Venice  the  rich,  Padua  the 
learned,  Bologna  the  fat,  Rome  the  holy,  Naples  the  gentle. 


JAMES  HOWELL.  103 

Genoa  the  proud,  and  Milan  tlie  great,  I  am  come  to  this  city." 
The  church  at  Milan,  of  which  St.  Ambrose  was  Bishop,  built 
of  white  marble  within  and  without,  he  greatly  achnired  ;  and 
of  the  country,  aboimding  in  luxurious  food,  hiscious  wines,  and 
rich  fruits,  he  remarks  :  ^  Nature  here  may  be  said  to  be  Lena 
JSui.  In  Italy  there  be  vlrfntes  rn^fjna'^  nee  minora  vitia : 
Great  virtues,  and  no  less  vices.'* 

Howell  now  climbed  over  the  Alps,  returned  to  Fnmce,  and 
found  himself  in  the  City  of  T-iyons.  He  writes  to  a  friend  at 
home,  and  says :  "  I  crossetl  the  Pyrenees  to  Sjmin  before. 
They  are  not  so  hideous  as  the  Alps.  Our  mountains  in  Wales, 
such  as  Eppynt  and  Penmaenmawr,  are  mole-hills  to  them.*' 
As  he  scaled  the  Alps,  he  says  "  his  thought^s  reflected  upon 
Hannibal,  who  with  vinegjir  and  strong  waters  did  eat  out  a 
passage  through  those  lines.''  Gunpowder  has  discovered  a 
speedier  way  since,  and  the  ])ickaxe  has  found  the  speediest  way 
iif  all.  At  Turin  he  was  brought  by  some  disaster  to  such 
an  extremely  low  ebb,  pecuniarily,  that  he  was  forced  to  foot  it, 
along  with  some  pilgrims,  to  Lyons.  He  found  here  a  country- 
man, "whom  he  met  at  Alicant  before,  who  accommodated  all 
his  wants."  Curiosity  carried  him  to  Geneva,  which  was 
gc)verned  at  that  time  by  Syndics^  and  four  hundred  senators. 
*•  She  is  like,"  he  says,  "a  bone  iDetwixt  three  mastiffs -the 
French  King,  the  Emperor,  and  the  Duke  of  Savoy." 

After  three  years'  absence  Howell  returned  to  England.  He 
writes  to  his  father  at  once,  to  say  that  it  has  pleased  God, 
after  his  peregrination  by  sea  and  land,  to  bring  him  back  to 
[x)nd(»n.  At  this  time  it  ajipears  that  a  flaunting  ambassador, 
M.  (.^adenet,  from  the  King  of  France,  paid  a  visit  to  our  King 
James,  who  asked  Lord  Kee[)er  Bacon  what  he  thought  of  him  ? 
He  answered,  he  was  a  tall,  proper  man.  "Ay,"  said  His 
Majesty,  "  what  think  you  of  his  head-piece  ?''  "  Sir,"  said 
Bacon,  "  tall  men  are  like  high  houses  of  four  or  five  storeys, 
wherein  commonly  the  uppermost  room  is  the  worst  furnished." 
At  this  time  Poctor  Francis  Mansell  voluntarily  resigned  the 
priiicipalship  of  Jesus  College,  Oxford,  in  favour  of  Sir  Eubule 
Theloal,  with  the  hope  that  he  would  be  a  considerable  bene- 
factor to  it,  Howell  writes  to  his  valued  friend.  Doctor  Mansell, 
at  All  Souls  College,  and  remarks,  respecting  Theloal,  his 
Buccessor,  "  I  pray  God  he  may  perform  what  he  piomiseth,  and 
that  he  be  not  over  partial  to  North  Wales  men." 

In  the  year  1621  Howell  was  made  a  Fellow  of  Jesus  College. 
On  the  occasion  he  writes  to  Sir  Eubule  Theloal,  now  Princii)al 
of  the  College :  "  Sir,  I  send  you  most  due  and  humble  thanks, 
that^  notwithstanding  I  have  played  the  truant,  and  been 
abs^t  so  long  from  Oxford,  you  have  been  pleased  lately  to 
make  a  choice  of  me  to  be  Fellow  of  your  new  foundation  in 
Jeans    College.     God    Almighty    prosper    and    perfect    yo\u* 


104  NOTABLE   MEN  OF  WALES. 

undertakings  I"  At  this  period  of  his  life  Howell's  fether  adN-ised 
liim  to  relinquish  his  appointment  to  the  Glass-House  in  Broad- 
street,  and  look  out  for  some  other  employment.  He  writes  at 
this  time,  in  answer  to  his  father :  "  Sir,  according  to  your 
advice,  while  1  sought  after  a  new  course  of  employment,  a  new 
employment  sought  me."  It  appears  that,  at  this  time.  Lord 
i^avage,  of  Long  Milford,  in  Norfolk,  had  two  sons,  and  was 
anxious  to  engage  Howell  to  travel  with  them  ;  but  after  due 
consideration  he  declined  the  ofter,  stating,  as  his  reason,  to  his 
father,  ^'  that  he  was  too  young  for  the  charge,  and  oiu*  religion 
differing,  I  have  made  a  choice  of  a  comrade,  a  very  worthy 
gentleman.  Baron  Altham's  son."  It  seems,  from  Howell's 
o[)inion,  that  his  young  friend  possessed  great  parts — so  much 
so,  that  he  had  mastered  Ploirden^  a  book  which,  in  his  estima- 
tion, required  hard  study  and  much  perseverance. 

This  lr\\y  was  of  short  duration,  for  Howell  was  taken 
dangerously  ill.  He  writt's  to  his  father  from  a  small  town 
a  little  distance  from  Paris,  to  wliich  he  and  Altbam  had  retired 
for  privacy :  "  I  took  cold  in  the  head,  so  that  it  turned  to  an 
imposthume,  whereof  I  was  sick  above  forty  days."  An  issue 
was  made  for  the  discharge  of  tlie  gathering,  which,  he  says, 
"  saved  his  life."  At  this  time  he  adds  :  "  My  Lord  of  Bucking- 
ham, having  been  long  since  Master  of  the  Horse  at  Court,  is 
now  master  of  all  the  wooden  horses  of  the  kingdom,  for  he  is 
to  be  High  Admiral  of  England,  Daminus  Equorura  etAquarum . 
Addressing  his  friend,  W.  Martin,  from  Brussels,  he  says  :  "  I 
thank  you  for  the  variety  of  German  news,  and  I  return  you 
in  English  the  Latin  verses  you  sent  me  : — 

"  As  soon  the  litth;  ant, 

Hhall  bib  the  ocean  dry, 
A  Hnail  sliall  creep  about  the  worki, 
K'er  these  affectioiiK  die." 

In  the  year  1622  Howell  accepted  an  appointment  from  some 
Cape  merchants  to  go  to  Spain  on  important  mercantile  business. 
A  great  Tinrkish  shi[),  sailing  through  the  Straits  towards  Con- 
stantinople, by  stress  of  weather  was  forced  to  put  up  at  a  little 
port,  called  Milo,  in  Sardinia.  She  was  richly  laden  with  a 
eargazon  of  broad  cloth,  estimated  to  be  worth  £30,000;  a  small 
portion  of  tin  and  lead  was  found  in  the  vessel  for  the  use  of  the 
ship,  which  the  searchers  alleged  were  contraband  goods.  Upon 
the  report  of  this,  the  Viceroy  of  Sardinia  seized  the  ship  and 
her  goods,  and  landed  the  men  and  master  in  Spain.  To  obtain 
n»dress  and  compensation  for  this  robbery  from  the  King  of 
Spain,  Howell  was  despatched  to  negotiate  the  terms.  On  this 
occasion  he  accompanied  the  Lord  Digby,  now  Extraordinary 
Ambassador  to  that  Court.  When  Howell  arrived  at  Madrid  he 
writes  to  one  of  the  owners  of  the  vessel  to  say  that "  the  papers 
toucbinetlbMjdd'D  Vineyard  axe  higher  than  I  in  bulk."    In 


JAMES  HOWELL.  105 

relation  to  this  business  he  had  audience  of  the  King,  find  h(^ 
reported  that  Coiuit  (iondomar's  arrival  from  England  was  of 
great  advantage  to  him.  Gondomar  at  this  time  was  the 
ambassador  of  Spain  to  the  Court  of  St.  James. 

At  this  very  period,  1622,  the  grand  business  of  the  match 
l>etween  Prince  ('Imrles  of  Wales  and  the  Infanta  of  S^min  wiis 
vjoing  on.  Lord  Digby  was  now  created  Earl  of  liristol,  the 
patent  creating  him  being  brought  by  Gondomar  from  the 
King  of  England.  Ilis  lordship,  with  others,  were  engaged  in 
negotiating  the  preliminaries  of  the  match,  and  Howell  was 
admitted  to  join  as  on(»  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Court. 
Suddenly,  who  should  a])pear  on  the  scene  but  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  in  company  with  the  Marquess  of  Buckingham.  The 
news  of  the  Prince's  arrival  quickly  spread  over  Madrid.  Tlie 
King,  Queen,  and  the  Infanta  went  abroad  to  take  an  airing,  the 
Infanta  wearing  a  blue  ribbon  on  her  arm, in  order  that  Charles 
might  see  her.  As  soon  as  the  Infanta  saw  the  Prince,  Howell 
says,  "  her  colour  rose  very  high."  For  the  gallantry  of  the 
Prince's  journey,  the  people  cried  out,  "that  he  deserved  to 
liave  the  In&nta  thrown  into  his  arms."  Disraeli  mentions  this 
in  his  Curiosities  of  Literature ;  and  Doctor  Johnson  has  said 
that  the  matter  of  the  match,  and  the  breaking  off  of  it,  could 
liot  be  accurately  and  fully  written  without  consulting  Howell. 
In  The  Coviprehensive  History  of  England^  i\\v  author,  the 
Kev.  Thomas  Thomson,  quoted  largely  from  Howell,  as  to  the 
whole  affair  from  beginning  to  end. 

While  at  Jladrid  this  time  Howell  was  not  without  a  com- 
panion from  his  native  Principality.  In  writing  to  his  cousin, 
Thomas  Gwyn,  of  Treciistle,  he  says:  "Mr.  Vaughtin, of  Golden 
Crrove,  and  I  were  comrades  and  bed-follows  many  months 
together."  On  the  1 0th  of  November,  1624,  Howell  landed  in 
England,  and,  writing  to  his  father,  he  says :  "  I  am  newly 
returned  from  Spain  in  convoy  of  the  Prince's  jewels ;  1  landed 
Jit  Portsmouth,  whence  I  came  by  post  to  Theobald's,  to  bring 
His  Majesty  news  of  their  safe  arrival."  These  jewels,  he  adds, 
"  were  valued  at  above  £100,000."  The  bearer  of  the  news,  no 
doubt,  was  a  welcome  messenger.  On  December  11th,  1625, 
he  says :  *•  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  be  on  Sunday  at  Theo- 
bald's, where  his  late  Majesty,  King  James,  departed  this  life, 
and  went  to  his  rest  ujion  the  Day  of  JSe8^"  He  was  one  of  the 
tirst  who  brought  the  news  of  the  King's  death  to  London.  To 
another  firiend,  he  writes  :  "  My  Lord  Chancellor  Bacon  is  lately 
dead.  He  died  so  poor  that  he  scarce  left  money  to  bury  him, 
and  that^  in  my  opinion,  out  of  contempt  of  the  pelf  of  fortune." 
Howell  now  gives  a  word  of  advice  to  a  cousin  of  his,  who  wsis 
abont  to  enter  into  the  state  of  matrimony.  He  tells  him : 
^  Let  Love  rather  than  lucre  be  your  guide  in  this  selection. 


106  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

though  a  concurrence  of  both  be  good."    He  warns  him  against 
marrying  a  shrew,  reminding  him  of  the  French  proverb — 

La  MaUon  eit  mit^rabiU  et  vi/charUe, 
Oii  la  Poule  pftu  haul  que  le  C(tcq  cJtantc 

That  house  doth  every  day  more  wretched  grow, 
When  the  Hen  louder  than  the  Cock  doth  crow. 

At  this  time  (1626)  Secretary  Conway  offered  him  the  post 
of  moving  agent  for  the  King  to  Italy,  which  in  the  end,  after 
due  deliberation,  he  declined.  Soon  after  this.  Lord  Scroop, 
Ix)rd  President  of  the  North,  sent  for  him,  and  offered  him 
permanent  home  employment.  He  went  down  to  York  as  his 
lordship's  secretary,  and  in  the  year  1627  was  returned  M.P. 
for  Richmond,  in  Yorkshire,  having  for  his  colleague  Sir  Talbot 
Bows.  In  his  letter  of  thanks  to  the  electors,  he  said  he  wished 
they  had  not  put  by  other  worthy  gentlemen,  who  stood 
earnestly  for  the  honour.  At  this  time  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham, styled  by  Charles,  "  Steenie,"  held  the  highest  sway  at 
(^ourt.  Upon  him  was  heaped  all  the  great  offices  of  State. 
Howell,  in  a  letter  to  his  Grace  a  little  before,  ventured  to  tell 
him  to  part  with  some  of  those  i)laces  in  relation  to  the  Court 
and  nation.  He  reminded  him  that  he  was  a  great  prince,  and 
that  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his  actions.  "  This  makes  you 
more  subject  to  envy,"  he  goes  on  to  say,  "which,  like  the  sun- 
beams, beats  always  upon  rising  ground."  ^This  advice  was 
not  heeded,  and  in  the  year  1628  Buckingham  was  slain  at 
Portsmouth  by  Lieut.  Felton.  His  heart  was  slit  in  two  by  the 
thrust  of  a  tenpenny  knife.  Howell  writes  to  I^dy  Scroop 
from  Stamford,  and  says  :  "  I  lay  yesternight  at  Stilton  post- 
house,  and  this  morning  betimes  the  postmaster  came  to  my 
bed's  head  and  told  me  that  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  was 
slain.  My  faith  was  not  strong  enough  to  believe  it,  until  I 
met  my  Lord  of  Eutland,  yom-  brother,  who  related  to  me  all 
the  circumstances  of  this  tragedy."  An  inferior  can  sometimes 
give  sound  advice  to  a  superior,  and  had  Buckingham  Ustened 
to  the  advice  tendered  to  him,  even  at  a  great  risk,  probably 
his  Grace  would  have  escaped  the  danger  of  being  made  a 
victim  to  envy  and  conspiracy. 

In  the  year  1629  Howell  went  to  Drapers'  Hall,  in  London, 
to  bind  his  brother  Ned  to  that  trade.  Casting  his  eye  over  the 
chimney-piece  in  the  great  room,  he  spied  the  picture  of  an 
ancient  gentleman,  whose  name  was  given  underneath  as 
Thomas  Howell.  He  it  was  who  made  a  present  of  the  Hall  to 
the  Company.  He  had  been  a  Spanish  merchant  in  the  time  of 
Henry  VIII.  Howell  told  the  clerk  who  gave  him  this  infoi> 
mation  that  one  of  the  sons  of  Thomas  Howell  came  now  hither 
to  be  bound.  The  clerk  answered, "if  he  be  a  right  Howell,  he 
may  have,  when  he  is  free,  three  hundred  pounds  to  help  him  to 
set  up."     In  writmiLio  his  father,  Howell  tells  him, "  It  may  be 


JAMES  HOWELL.  107 

hereafter  we  will  make  use  of  this/'  The  same  Thomas  Howell 
is  the  founder  of  the  Schools  at  Llandaff  and  Denbigh,  which  are 
designated  after  his  name. 

About  this  perio<l  Howell  fomieil  the  acquaintance  of  "  rare 
lien  Jonson."  He  headed  his  letters  to  this  literary  man, 
**  Father  Ben,''  and  begins  one  of  them,  ^^  ynllwmfit  magnuno 
ingenium  sine  rnixtura  (hmeutui^* ;  (There  is  no  great  wit 
without  some  mixture  of  madness).  Nor  was  he  a  fool  who 
answered,  nee  parvnrn  sine  tivixtHva  stnlttitt*  (No  small 
wit  without  some  alloy  of  foolishness).  Here  he  gives  Jonson  to 
understand  that  he  considered  him  mad  when  he  wrote  The  Fox, 
and  the  Alchymist ;  and  stark  mad  when  he  wrote  his  Sejanas, 
hut  not  so  mad  when  he  wrote  The  Magnetic  Lad*/.  It  appeared 
that  Jonson  at  this  time  had  lam])Ooned  the  Royal  Architect, 
Inigo  Jones.  Howell  criticises  thus  the  severity  of  the  language*. 
"  The  fangs  of  a  bear,  and  the  tusks  of  u  wild  boar  do  not 
bite  worse  than  a  goose  quill  sometimes.  If  your  si)irit  will 
not  let  you  retract,  yet  you  will  do  well  to  repress  any 
more  copies  of  the  Satire,  for  the  King  is  not  well  pleascnl 
therewith." 

In  the  year  1632  the  l^^arl  of  l^icester  had  been  ap|X)inted  by 
the  King,  AmKissador  l^Ixtraordinary,  to  go  to  Denmark,  to 
condole  the  death  of  Sophia,  the  (iueen  Dowager,  our  King's 
grandmother.  It  pleased  his  l^ordship  to  make  Howell  his 
Secretary  and  orator,  so  he  says,  "I  made  along  Latin  speech, 
alta  voce  to  the  King  at  Rhensliurgh,  in  1  folstein  land.  AVe 
were  upon  a  hundred  in  mourning  when  we  went  to  court.  The 
King  feasted  my  Ix>rd  once,  and  it  lasted  from  eleven  till  th<* 
evening,  during  which  time  the  King  began  thirty-five  healths. 
Tlie  King  at  last  was  taken  away  in  a  chair,  but  n»y  Lord  of 
licicpster  bore  up  stoutly  all  the  while."  This  year  Howell 
received  the  sad  news  from  Doctor  Field,  Lord  liishop  of  St. 
David's,  of  his  father's  death.  He  writes  to  his  lx)rdship  to  say, 
that  his  letter  eontract(»d  his  spirits  and  plunged  them  into  a 
deep  sense  of  sorrow.  His  father's  end,  he  says,  was  rather  a 
dissolution  than  a  death.  He  adds,  "  when  I  consider  his 
constant  piety  to  God,  his  rare  indulgence  to  his  children,  his 
charity  to  his  neighbours — then  1  wish  my  soul  no  other  felicity, 
when  she  hath  shaken  off*  these  rags  of  flesh,  than  to  ascend  to 
his,  and  to  eoenjoy  the  same  bliss." 

Howell  could  now  see  troublous  times  looming  in  the  distance. 
He  writes  to  a  friend,  "  there  is  some  murmuring  against  the 
ship  money,  because  it  is  indefinite.  It  is  levied  ujmdu  county 
towns  as  well  as  maritime,  and  for  that  they  say  Noy  cannot 
■how  any  record."  Noy,  who  was  then  Attomey-Cieneral,  died 
in  1635.  Howell  remarks,  "  being  such  a  clerk,  learned  in  the  law, 
the  world  wonders  at  such  a  Will  he  made."  It  is  a  short  one, 
and  written  in  Latin.     After  making  some  be<iuests,  the  testator 


108  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

writes,  ^'Reliqua  vieoru/in  omnia  prhiwgenito  t)ieo  Edoardo 
dissipanda,,  nee  melius  spet^avi  ego:  I  leave  the  rest  of  all 
my  goods  to  my  first-born,  Edward,  to  be  squandered,  for  I 
never  hoped  better."  After  this,  Howell  accompanied  the  Lord 
Deputy  to  Ireland,  and,  during  his  short  stay  there,  he 
corresponded  with  many  people,  and  among  the  rest  with  Doctor 
Usher,  the  Lord  Primate,  who  had  consecrated  Doctor  Howell 
Bishop  of  Bristol.  After  he  left  Ireland,  h«  writes  to  Lord 
Cliflford  from  Edinburgh,  remarking  that  "the  name  of  a  Bishop 
here  is  grown  so  contemptible  that  a  black  dog,  if  he  has  any 
white  marks  about  him,  is  called  Bishop."  Such  was  the  temper 
of  the  times  ;  such  the  bigotry  of  blind  zeal. 

In  1641  Howell  was  made  one  of  the  clerks  of  the  Privy 
Council.  He  succeeded  Sir  Edward  Nicholas,  and  continued  in 
that  office  until  he  was  arrested  and  sent  to  the  Fleet  prison. 
Anthony  a  Wood,  in  his  Athema  Oxonienaes  records,  that 
*'  being  of  a  gay  and  extravagant  turn  of  mind,  Howell  was  sent 
to  prison  for  debt."  To  attempt  to  set  Wood  right,  and  all  the 
satellites  governed  by  him,  is  a  task  of  a  difficult  nature, 
especially  at  this  time  of  day,  as  most  people  look  up  to  Wood 
as  infallible.  Howell,  who  knew  best  his  own  affairs,  shall 
answer  for  himself.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Howell 
espoused  with  all  his  energy  the  cause  of  his  Royal  blaster, 
Charles  I.,  against  the  Parliament.  The  King  himself  was 
apprehensive  that  he  was  too  zealous  in  his  cause.  To  allay  these 
fears,  Howell  wrote  to  His  Majesty,  who  was  then  at  Oxford, 
saying,  *'  I  jjrostrate  this  paper  at  your  Majesty's  feet^  hoping 
it  may  find  way  thence  to  your  eyea^  and  so  descend  to  your 
Koyal  heart."  The  Parliamentarians  were  not  ignorant  of  Howell's 
advocacy  of  the  Eoyal  cause.  One  t reals  on  delicate  ground, 
when  he  challenges  Wood's  historical  facts.  The  writer  here 
does  not  of  himself  undertake  the  task,  but  produces  Howell  as  a 
witness  before  the  Court.  In  a  letter  written  to  the  Earl  of 
Bristol,  dated  from  the  Fleet,  November  20th,  1643, 
Howell  explains  in  his  own  language  the  circumstances  of  his 
aiTest.     The  narrative  runs  as  follows :  — 

"  I  WM  lately  come  to  London,  on  some  occasicmH  of  my  o\ni,  and  had  been 
divers  times  in  Westminwter  Hall,  where  I  conversed  with  many  Parliamentary 
men  of  my  own  acquaintance,  )>iit  one  morning  betimes  there  rushed  into  my 
chambers  five  armed  men  with,  swords,  pistols,  and  bills,  and  told  me  they  had  a 
warrant  from  the  Parliament  for  me.  I  desired  to  see  their  warrant ;  they  denied 
me  ;  I  desired  to  see  the  date  of  it ;  they  denied  all.  At  last,  one  of  them  pulled  a 
greasy  paper  out  of  his  pocket,  and  showed  me  only  three  or  four  nameii 
subscribed,  and  no  moi-e.  So  tliey  rushed  presently  into  my  closet,  and  seized  all 
my  papers  and  letters,  and  anything  that  was  manuscript ;  and  many  printed 
books  they  took  also,  and  hurled  all  into  a  great  hair  trunk,  which  they  carried 
away  with  them.  I  had  taken  a  little  physic  that  morning,  and  with  very  much 
ado  they  suffered  me  to  stay  in  my  chamlter,  with  two  guards  upon  me,  tiU  the 
evening ;  at  which  time  they  bro\ight  me  before  the  Committee  for  examinaium, 
where  I  confess  I  found  g(N>d  i*eMpect,  and  being  bniught  up  to  the  close  Ckmi- 
mittee,  I  wah  ordered  to  Ije  forthcoming,  tiU  some  i)apei*s  of  mine   were  perused 


JAMES  HOWELL.  109 

smd  J/r.  Ctw&ri  was  app<»int^  U»  lio  it.  Some  d ays  after,  I  quuw  U\  Mr.  Corhtt, 
and  hv  t(ild  me  he  hod  iicniKod  them,  and  could  tind  iiothiu^  tliat  might  give 
(iffence.  Hereiii-K-in,  I  desire<1  liiiu  to  make  a  ivjxMt  to  the  House,  according  t4» 
which,  I  was  told  he  fairly  did.  Yet,  such  wan  my  hanl  hap,  that  I  was  com- 
mitted t«»  the  Fleet,  whei*e  I  am  now  under  clo»*e  restraint — Ood's  will  Ik* 
diine  and  amend  the  times,  and  make  up  those  ruptures  wliich  threaten  so  much 
calamity.  Si>  1  am  3'our  Lsmiship's  most  faithful  (thcaigli  now  afflicted)  ber\'itor, 
J.  H/' 

If  Howell  was  imprisoned  for  debt,  according  to  Wood,  win- 
were  his  writings  examined  by  a  C.ommitlee  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  a  report  made  thereupon  to  the  Members  as  to 
the  nature  of  their  contents  ?  It  appears  that  he  was  com- 
mitted to  prison  for  something  of  a  graver  nature  than  debt. 
Where  Wood  obtained  his  facts  it  is  difficult,  at  this  time  of 
day,  to  ascertain.  One  thing  appears  to  be  evident,  that  Wood 
did  not  see  Howell's  own  narrative  of  the  affair,  otherwise  he 
would  scarcely  have  hazarded  an  opinion  and  palmed  it  off  as  a 
fact.  If  Wood's  version  be  correct,  Howell's  must  be  false.  It 
is  difficult  to  see  how  this  could  be.  Howell  tells  the  Earl  of 
Bristol  what  took  place,  in  the  light  of  day,  and  tlie  result  of 
the  ex4iinin<ition  of  his  papers  was  reported  to  the  House  then 
sitting.  All  this  was  not  done  in  a  comer.  Wood  might  have 
thought  that  to  dignify  Howell  as  a  sort  of  state  prisoner  was 
an  honour  too  great  to  be  heaped  upon  him.  Whatever  was  the 
true  case  Howell  was  detained  as  a  prisoner  till  the  time  of 
the  restoration  of  Charles  II.,  and  on  coming  out  of  prison  he 
was  by  the  King  made  Royal  Historiographer  of  England,  an 
office  purposely  created  for  him.  Again,  if  it  was  for  debt 
that  he  was  incarcerated,  from  1643  to  the  restoration  of 
Charles  in  1660,  why  should  royalty  have  shown  him  so  much 
respect  and  favour  as  to  elevate  him  to  this  new  position  ? 
Charles  could  not  be  ignorant  of  the  cause  why  Howell  lay  at 
anchor  in  the  fleet  so  long,  and  consec[uently  he  rewarded 
him  for  fidelity  to  his  father's  cause. 

In  religion,  Howell  was  a  staunch  and  devoted  son  of  the 
Reformed  Church  of  England.  He  says  to  a  fiiend,  "  I  love  a 
holy,  devout  sermon,  that  first  checks,  and  then  cheers  the 
conscience — that  begins  with  the  law  and  ends  with  the 
gos]>el ;  but  I  never  prejudicate  or  censure  any  preacher, 
taking  him  as  I  find  him."  The  most  acceptable  sacrifice 
sent  up  to  heaven  he  believed  to  be  prayer  and  praise. 
Sermons  were  not  so  essential  as  either  of  them  to  the  true 
practice  of  religion.  He  also  thanks  God  that  his  foreign 
travels  had  enabled  him  pray  to  Him  every  day  in  a  several 
langOBfe,  and  upon  Sunday  in  seven.  Et  sic  ceteriiam 
contenao  attingere  vitam.  "  Difference  of  opinion,"  he  remarks, 
^may  work  a  disaffection  in  me,  but  not  detestation.  I 
rather  pity  than  hate  Turk  or  infidel,  for  they  are  of  the 
same  metal,  thongh  the  inscription  differs.  If  I  hate  ^ivj)  SX;  \^ 
those  fhatpuaJe  the  sweet  peace  of  our  Church.'' 


no  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

Howell  was  a  very  voluminous  writer.  The  Dumber  of  volumes 
which  he  published  amount  to  thirty  and  more ;  but  the  one  by 
which  he  is  best  known  is  that  called  Fartiiliar  Letters^  which 
has  reached  a  thirteenth  edition.  Perhaps  the  rarest  of  his  books 
is  the  Tetraglotton  Dictionary  in  folio.  On  each  page  of  this  work 
there  are  four  columns,  and  on  each  four  diff'erent  languages 
appear,  viz.,  English,  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian,  s.>  that  the 
eye  at  one  glance  can  consult  four  languages  written  on  the  same 
page  opposite  one  another.  The  late  learned  Doctor  Thirl  wall, 
Lord  Bishop  of  St.  David's,  was  once  asked  if  he  was  well  ac(iuainted 
with  Howell's  works.  The  reply  was,  *'  His  Letters  were  the 
first  book  put  into  my  hands  by  my  parents,  as  soon  as  I  knew 
anything  of  the  English  language."  Howell  wrote  allegorical 
books,  in  which  he  made  trees  and  animals  to  represent  li\dng 
men.  The  times  were  then  too  dangerous  to  write  of  public  men 
as  it  is  done  in  our  day.  Thackeray,  in  his  "  Roundabout  Papers," 
in  the  Cornhill  Magazine^  mentions  that  there  were  two  books 
of  which  he  was  so  fond  that  he  carried  them  everywhere  with 
him,  viz.,  Montaigne's  Essays  and  Howell's  Familiar  Letters. 
Howell  was  buried  in  1646,  on  the  north  side  of  Temple  Church, 
where  a  mural  tablet  was  erected  to  his  memory.  This  was 
removed  about  the  year  1683,  when  the  church  was  under  repair. 
The  tablet  contained  the  following  inscription : — "  Jacobus 
Howell,  Cambro-Britannus,  Regis  Historiographus  in  Anglia 
primus,  qui  post  varias  peregrinationes  tandem  natma?  cursum 
peregit,  Satur  annorum  et  famae,  domi  forist^ue  hucusque 
erraticus  hie  fixus.  1666."  Perhaps  the  learned  Dean  of 
Llandaff  and  Master  of  the  Temple  will  cause  a  search  to  be 
made  for  this  tablet — thrown,  very  likely,  into  some  dark  comer 
— and  bring  it  forth  to  the  light  of  day.  The  good  Dean  him- 
self is  descended  from  the  old  stock  of  the  ancient  Britons — a 
branch  of  the  Vaughans  of  Brecknockshire,  of  which  Henry 
Vaughan  ("  Silurist "),  whose  poetry  resembles  that  of  George 
Herbert,  was  so  great  an  ornament.  Or  it  may  be  that  some 
member  of  the  Cymmrodorion  Society  would  not  think  it  amiss 
to  devote  an  hour  or  so  with  a  view  to  the  discovery  of  the 
ancient  tablet,  and  rescue  it  from  its  obscure  cell.  The.  preser- 
vation of  ancient  monuments  is  occupying  public  attention  in 
the  present  day.  The  preservation  of  ancient  tablets  also  may 
not  be  an  unworthy  object  of  the  same  care  and  regard.  We 
-conclude  this  sketch  with  James  Howell's  motto  on  his  arms — 

"Senesco  kon  Segnesco." 

G.  H. 


OF    HIGH     DEGREE. 


By  Charles  Gibbon,  Author  of  "  Kobin  Gray,"  "  A  Heart's 
Problem,"  "  In  Honour  Bound,"  "  Queen  ok  the  ^Meadow," 

"The  Braes  of  Yarrow,"  &c->  &^*- 


CHAl^^K  XLVIII.    Keen  Wit  and  Keen  Wit. 

This  had  been  a  very  busy  morning  for  Mr.  Dottridge.  The 
business  began  before  he  left  his  bedroom. 

Rapier  came  to  him  looking  more  like  a  person  disturbed  in 
mind  than  he  had  ever  appeared  before. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Bapier — another  crisis  in  Kgypt  ?  Wt; 
are  somewhat  deeply  involved  in  that  quarter." 

"  I  have  no  special  news  about  Egyi>t,  but  ...  I  am 
anxious  to  save  you  from  wl^  threatens  to  be  not  only  u 
surprise,  but  a  greater  trouble  than  the  loss  of  every  penny 
you  have  sunk  in  that  quarter." 

Rapier  still  affected  to  regard  the  verdict  pronounced  more 
than  a  year  ago  by  the  physicians  as  in  force,  that  his  chief 
might  still  be  dangerously,  if  not  &tally,  affected  by  any  sudden 
tidings  of  calamity. 

Dottridge  smiled ;  he  appreciated  his  friend's  caution,  but  he 
was  too  proud  of  the  recovered  strength,  which  rendered  him 
indifferent  to  it,  to  suspect  that  there  was  any  affectation  m  it. 

**  Gro  OQ,  man,  you  need  not  be  afraid  now ;  my  condition  is 
changed  firom  what  it  used  to  be.  I  have  got  a  new  lease  of 
life,  thanks  to  fresh  air  and  new  hope." 

'^  If  I  were  not  too  much  bothered  at  this  moment  1  ^on\i3L 
offer  JOD  coogmtalatiom,  and  tell  you  that  you  are  a  mitade  ^ 


112  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

contradiction  to  medical  science.  I  would  also  remind  you  that 
you  have  told  nle  really  nothing  of  what  you  have  been  doing 
during  my  long  absence,  except  that  you  have  been  cruising 
about  the  world,  and  2)icking  up  life  by  resolving  not  to  die. 
But  you  will  explain  all  that  another  time,  I  suj)pose.  Mean- 
whae " 

«  Well,  meanwhile  ?  " 

Dottridge  proceeded  calmly  with  his  toilet,  smiling  at  the 
reflection  of  Rapier's  face  in  the  mirror. 

"  I  see  that  I  need  not  be  afraid  of  startling  you.     No  doubt 
you  foresaw   the    possibility  of  that  arrangement   concerning 
Dahlia's   dowry  turning   up   some    day,  witli  a  request   from 
.  Meredith  to  have  it  fully  explained." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  he  requires  any  explanation  since  he  has 
married  her,  as  I  exjiected  he  would,  and  it  seems  to  me  now, 
as  it  did  at  the  time,  that  the  match  is  a  very  suitable  one  for 
both  parties." 

"  So  I  think — so  does  everybody ;  but  he  has  discovered 
somehow  the  conditions  on  which  the  dowry  was  granted,"  said 
Rapier,  evidently  still  uneasy  on  the  subject. 

Dottridge  was  perfectly  placid. 

"  The  conditions  were  not  imposed  on  him.  1  was  careful 
about  that,  for  I  respect  him  too  much  not  to  believe  that  he 
would  have  rejected  them.  Had  I  proposed  them  to  him  they 
would  have  been  contemptible.  The  only  blame  which  he  can 
attach  to  me  is  that  I  placed  temptation  in  his  way.  To  that 
my  answer  is,  the  man  who  could  submit  to  temptation  was  not 
a  fitting  husband  for  Ruth  Clark.  I  told  him  nothing  about 
the  release  from  the  mortgages  which  would  follow  upon  his 
marriage  with  Dahlia.  I  did  not  even  speak  of  her  dowry.  I 
offered  him  no  bribe  whatever.  He  was  left  free  to  choose,  and 
he  has  chosen.  On  the  whole,  it  seems  to  me,  he  has  done  very 
well." 

**A11  the  same,  he  is  frantic  with  rage  against  you.  He 
charges  you  madly  with  a  deejji^laid  and  diabolical  scheme  to 
separate  him  from  Miss  Clark.  I  explained  to  him — or  tried  to 
explain — how  absurd  that  was,  for  you  could  not  possibly  have 
any  motive  in  separating  them.  I  pointed  out  that  you  could 
as  easily  have  dowered  her  as  Dahlia,  and  would  have  done  so 
if  it  had  been  required  to  help  the  man  she  had  decided  to 
marry.  Rut  the  poor  devil  is  beside  himself,  and  cannot  listen 
to  reason." 

In  the  com-se  of  this  reply  Rapier's  tones  were  exquisitely 
blended  :  pity  for  Stephen,  with  a  shade  of  angry  contempt  for 
his  folly;  admiration  for  the  generosity  of  Dottridge,  with 
indignation  at  the  very  thought  that  he  could  have  been  moved 
in  the  remotest  degree  by  any  personal  motive  in  the  whole 
transaction. 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE,  113 

Dottridge  was  silent  for  a  little  while,  and  continued  to 
dress.     By  and  by : 

'*  I  will  speak  to  him  when  he  comes  to-day.  I  wish  you 
could  find  him  now." 

"Find  him! — he  has  been  in  the  house  for  several  hours.** 

**  Where  is  he !     Ask  him  to  come  to  me." 

Sapier  drew  back  astounded  at  thi*i  rashness. 

**  Ask  a  madman  to  stej)  in  and  choke  you !  No,  I  shall 
not  do  that,  thank  you.  I  have  found  it  hard  enough  to  keep 
him  away  from  you  so  long." 

**  I  have  nothing  to  fear,  said  Dottridge,"  coldly. 

**  Perhaps  not,"  rejoined  Kapier,  witli  a  grim  smile,  and 
apparently  subduing,  although  he  could  not  dismiss,  all 
anxiety  at  once ;  "  but  all  things  considered,  Dottridge,  I  do 
not  think  it  is  fair  of  you  to  lead  the  poor  wretch  into  tempta- 
tion. See  him  at  once  bv  all  means,  if  such  is  your  pleasure  : 
but     ..." 

Here  he  stopped,  adding  emphasis  by  so  doing  to  the  tone 
with  which  he  pronounced  the  word  "  but." 

Dottridge  wheeled  around  quickly  and  saw  that  his  clever 
agent  was  pale  and  resolute.  Rapier  completed  the  sentence 
with  the  air  of  one  who  washes  his  hands  of  a  troublesome 
affair,  and  is  determined  that  he  shall  not  be  mixed  up 
in  it." 

^  But — murder  will  be  the  upshot  of  it.  You  can  take  my 
advice  and  give  the  man  a  chance  to  calm  himself  before  he 
meets  you ;  or  call  him  now  and  I  shall  take  the  first  train  to 
London,  with  the  pleasing  duty  of  ordering  a  suit  of  mourning 
to  be  ready  immediately." 

Dottridge  laughed,  and  yet  the  joke  did  not  entirely  fail 
to  have  effect  upon  him. 

^What  a  droll  creature  you  are.  Rapier;  your  views  of 
life  seem  to  be  taken  from  the  most  outrageous  melodramas. 
\\Tiy  should  Meredith  wish  to  murder  me  ;  and  if  he 
did,  how  could  he  accom];)lish  it?  When  a  man  has 
an  intention  of  that  kind  he  does  not  come  to  the  house  of 
his  victim  in  a  towering  passion,  blustering  and  threatening,  so 
that  everybody  may  be  on  the  look-out  for  danger." 

**  I  did  not  say  he  had  any  intention  of  doing  it,  but  he  will 
do  it  if  he  remains  in  his  present  uncontrollable  fury  when  you 
meet.  You  are  warned,  and  can  take  precautious  or  not,  as  you 
may  think  fit.  All  I  aim  at  is,  that  you  should  spare  him  and 
joiurBclf  minecesBary  annoyance." 

Dottridge  remained  silent,  and  carefully  buttoned  his  waist- 
ooaL  Two  things  were  in  his  mind — first,  that  Rapier  was 
advisiiig  wisely  enough,  whatever  might  be  the  circumstances 
under  whioh  he  was  to  meet  Stephen ;  and,  second,  that  Rapier 
corionsly  nxgent  to  delay  the  meeting.    A^liy  ?    He  asked 

II 


114  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

the  question,  and  instantly  dismissed  the  suspicion  it  suggested 
because  Rapier  could  not  have  any  object  to  serve  beyond  his 
desire  to  protect  and  to  help  him. 

^  I  daresay  you  are  right,"  he  said  by-and-bye.  "  I  will  wait 
until  you  tell  me  that  Meredith  is  in  a  more  composed  state. 
I  should  be  sorry  to  be  the  cause  of  any  trouble  to  him." 

"  Then  you  leave  the  arrangements  of  matters  to  me." 

"  I  fancy  that  will  be  best.  You  have  had  charge  of  serious 
enough  business  on  my  account  to  enable  me  partly  to  under- 
stand how  much  worry  you  will  save  me.  At  the  same  time  I 
cannot  take  such  a  desperate  view  of  the  case  as  you  appear  to 
do." 

"You  would  have  done  so  if  you  had  seen  him  when  he 
arrived  this  morning.  I  was  in  your  room  looking  out  the  papers 
you  wanted — ^you  will  find  them  on  the  table  beside  your  couch 
— when  suddenly  he  pounced  in  upon  me,  and  half-choked  me 
before  he  discovered  that  he  had  mistaken  me  for  you." 

"  But  how  did  he  get  in  without  your  hearing  him  ?" 

"  Simply  enough.  You  know  that  I  meant  to  be  at  the  work 
early.  Well,  I  looked  out  of  the  window  to  see  what  sort  of 
morning  or  night  it  was,  and  forgot  to  fasten  it  again.  That 
was  how  he  caught  me  unaware,  and  the  joke  to  me  was,  that 
having  caught  me,  he  had  in  his  mad  state  a  wild  notion  that  I 
was  about  some  business  for  myself  meaning  mischief  to  you." 

Rapier  uttered  a  slight  laugh  at  this  preposterous  idea  ;  but  it 
so  happened  that  Rapier's  confidant,  being  busy  in  watching  the 
face  of  Dottridge,  betrayed  in  his  expression  the  lurking  eager- 
ness with  which  Rapier  sought  to  discover  the  effect  of  this 
revelation.  If  Dottridge  accepted  it  literally,  then  Meredith 
might  see  him  when  he  pleased,  and  the  result  would  be  to  his 
advantage. 

Dottridge  caught  the  expression  as  he  arranged  his  scarf  pin, 
and  he  lingered  over  that  operation  with  the  mental  query, 
"Hullo!  what  does  this  mean?"  His  first  suspicion  he  had  at 
once  dismissed,  but  the  second  one  he  thought  it  desirable  to 
consider. 

*'  Yes,  that  must  have  been  a  good  joke  to  you,"  he  said,  at 
length,  with  much  deliberation ;  "  but  it  need  not  disturb  us. 
What  you  tell  me  certainly  makes  me  anxious  on  Meredith's  own 
account.     What  is  it  you  advise  ?" 

"Nothing  more  than  I  have  already  indicated — that  you 
should  not  see  him  until  he  has  recovered  something  like  calm- 
ness, and  you  have  considered  exactly  how  you  are  to  deal  with 
him.  With  me  he  is  safe  enough,  for  I  have  persuaded  him  that 
I  have  no  other  object  in  the  world  than  to  do  you  harm.  Of 
course  we  can  laugh  at  that  joke  for  a  little,  but  the  man  is  so 
decidedly  insane  that  I  am  positively  afraid — and  I  think  yon 
know  I  am  not  particularly  chicken-hearted — that  he  will  do 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  115 

some  mischief  unless  you  are  prepared  with  an  answer  that 
will  satisfy  hiui  you  meant  no  harm  by  the  arrangement  you 
made." 

"  1  believe  I  can  satisfy  him  on  that  score." 
**  Then  if  you  feel  sure  of  that,  wait  till  I  am  able  to  tell  you 
that  you  may  see  him.     But  allow  me  or  Brassey,  or  some  one 
who  has  muscle,  to  be  at  hand  to  protect  you,  if  necessary." 

'*  Ridiculous !  I  see  you  do  not  know  Meredith.  I  must  see 
him  without  any  guard  except  what  I  possess  in  myself,  if  I  see 
him  at  aU." 

This  was  said  with  a  tone  of  so  much  contempt  for  the  pre- 
cautions which  were  urged  upon  him  that  Rapier  was  apparently 
dismayed.     He  was  in  reality  puzzled  by  tlie  mental  query : 

"  What  force  can  this  man  possess,  of  which  I  am  ignorant,  that 
makes  him  so  bold  ?" 
He  said  aloud : 

*'  At  any  rate  do  not  see  him — for  his  sake — until  I  tell  you 
tliat  he  has  come  to  something  like  reason.  Remember,  you  are 
not  dealing  with  a  man  in  his  senses,  but  with  one  who  may  do 
something  more  than  he  himself  intends." 

"  Very  well,  let  it  be  so.  But  I  must  see  Dahlia,  and  may  be 
I  shall  learn  from  her  something  which  will  assist  me  in  dealing 
with  her  husband." 

"  See  her  by  all  means.  She,  poor  creature,  is  in  much 
distress,  and  will  be  glad  of  any  comfort  you  can  give  lier." 

•  "Then that  is  settled.  You  look  after  the  arrangements  and 
report  i)rogre8s.  Dahlia  may  come  to  me  as  soon  as  she  arrives." 
**  I  have  no  doubt  we  can  square  matters,  since  you  are  able  to 
assure  him  that  you  had  no  special  reason  for  attempting  to 
separate  him  from  ]Miss  Clark.  For  reasons  of  my  own,  I  am 
pirticularly  pleased  by  that  fact.     I  will  explain  by-and-bye," 

Dottridge  was  half  inclined  to  call  him  back  and  let  him 
understand  at  once  that  he  had  been  inspired  by  another  motive ; 
but  Rapier  was  gone,  and,  on  reflection,  it  seemed  that  it  might 
be  as  well  to  wait  a  little  before  openly  declaring  his  intentions 
regarding  Ruth. 

He  wanted  very  much  to  discover  the  meaning  of  that  curious 
expression  he  had  seen  on  the  face  in  the  mirror. 

Thinking  much  more  about  that  incident  than  he  thought  it 
could  really  deserve,  Dottridge  went  to  his  room.  There  he 
had  letters  to  examine,  and  papers  to  read.  Happily  there 
were  few  things  requiring  immediate  attention,  for  his  presence 
was  as  yet  known  to  very  few,  and  all  matters  of  business  which 
demanded  his  own  consideration  were  communicated  to  him  by 
Baasnett  or  Bapier. 

But  he  sadly  missed  his  right  hand,  as  he  called  Ruth,  and 
firand  himself  railing  into  a  vice  which  he  specially  disliked — 
the  vice  of  ^  dawdling." 

H  2 


116  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

Ruth  had  gent  a  me^^sage  by  Bras>ey,  asking  him  to  excuse 
her  duriug  the  forenoon,  and  he  was  obliged  to  do  what  he  could 
for  himself. 

Time  jiassed  rapidly  with  him,  however,  for  dawdling  or  not 
Dottridge  was  one  of  those  men  whose  activity  of  brain  never 
permitted  him  to  know  what  an  hour  of  perfect  leisiu^  was  like. 
He  had  always  so  many  irons  in  the  fire  that  he  was  eom}>elled 
to  work  coDtinuously  at  high  pressure,  in  order  to  give  some 
attention  to  each. 

On  this  day,  however,  there  was  an  uncomfortable  sensation 
in  the  atmosphere;  and  his  attention  was  distracted  from  what- 
ever he  took  in  hand  by  the  questions — "  What  is  Ruth  doing  ?" 
*^  \N'here  is  Rapier  ?**  "  Why  has  Dahlia  not  arrived  y 

His  room  being  carefully  padded  against  all  incursions  of 
sound,  he  harl  not  heard  the  arrix'al  of  the  Derewood  family 
carriage,  and  Kapier  took  care  that  the  intimation  of  it  wa> 
delayed  until  it  chimed  in  with  his  plans. 


CHAPTER  XLIV.— The  Appeal. 

At  length  Brdssey  announced  !Mrs.  Meredith,  and  Dottridge 
exjierienced  a  sense  of  much  relief  from  himself.  Had  he  been 
dismissing  some  unconscionable  bore  he  could  not  have  felt 
more  satisfaction  than  he  did  in  the  prosjicct  of  being  for  a 
time,  at  any  rate,  freed  from  himself. 

Dahlia  entered,  so  pale  and  fagged  looking  that  Dottridge 
was  startled.  He  took  her  hands,  he  touched  her  brow  with  his 
lips,  and  found  it  cold,  although  she  seemed  so  excited. 

"  Why,  Dahlia,  you  are  looking  very  iU.  What  has  hapi>ened 
to  you  ? 

She  did  not  answer,  for  she,  too,  was  amazed.  She  had  always 
stood  in  awe  of  this  guardian  of  hers,  who  so  seldom  permitted 
her  to  see  him.  in  her  thoughts  he  had  always  appeared  as  an 
old  cantankerous  invalid,  who  dared  not  put  his  face  beyond  his 
room  lest  the  first  breath  of  wind  should  snuff  him  out,  as  it 
might  have  done  the  last  flickering  flame  of  a  candle  burnt  to 
the  socket. 

But  here  was  a  pleasant,  although  serious,  face  looking  at  her, 
apd  a  good-natured  voice  expressing  anxiety  about  her.  ]More 
wonderful  than  all,  instead  of  an  aged  creature  tottering  into 
the  grave,  she  saw  a  man  who  was  still  in  the  prime  of  life,  and 
apparently  in  condition  to  enjoy  it. 

Without  waiting  for  her  reply  he  directed  Brassey  to  bring 
wine,  and  helped  her  to  a  glass.  She  drank  it  eagerly.  By 
this  time  he  had  placed  her  in  an  easy  chair. 

"You  are  astonished  to  see  me  looking  so  well,"  he  said,  when 
they  were  alone ;  "  you  cannot  be  more  astonished  than  I  am 
myself.  I  have  cheated  the  doctors,  as  people  say,  and  have  a 
new  life  before  me.    But  you " 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  117 

*^  I  do  not  look  as  you  exi>ect^d  to  see  me,  sir,"  she  inter- 
rupted. "I  am  not  well,  but  I  am  glad  to  see  the  change 
in  you.  I  wish  you  had  permitted  me  to  see  you  more 
frequently." 

'*I  feel  the  reproach,  Dahlia,"  he  answered,  sadly,  "but  there 
were  circumstances  which  the  sight  of  you  recalled,  when  1 
wished  to  forget  them." 

"  ^V^lat  are  they  ?"  she  asked  boldly.  "  They  were  connecte  I 
with  my  mother.     1  want  to  know  what  they  were." 

He  saw  that  she  was  excited,  and  replied,  gently : 

-*  I  do  not  think  we  should  go  into  these  matters  just  now. 
I  sent  for  you  in  order  that  I  might  have  the  satisfaction  of 
t'ongratulating  you  on  your  marriage,  and  to  tell  you  how  glad 
I  should  be  to  do  anything  in  my  i)0wer  to  help  to  increase 
your  happiness." 

The  gentleness  of  his  voice  and  the  expression  of  his  face,  in 
which  there  was  a  dignity  of  pain,  impressed  Dahlia  more  than 
his  words.  Besides,  she  had  not  come  to  ask  him  about  her 
mother;  that  was  one  of  those  impulses  by  which  her  conduct 
was  so  often  directed  out  of  its  right  course.  She  had  come  to 
s|>eak  to  him  about  Euth  and  Stephen. 

But  now  having  mentioned  the  parent  she*  could  not  remember, 
and  whose  name  had  been  always  hushed  in  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Dottridge,  she  felt  that  whatever  might  be  the  mystery  of 
the  association  between  these  two  he  could  not  have  acted  badly. 
With  that  feeling  upon  her  she  would  in  calmer  mood  have 
shrunk  from  the  subject  altogether — ^would  have  wisely  and 
gratefully  Jiccepted  his  advice  to  enquire  no  fm'ther  and  so 
closed  the  subject.  In  her  present  excited  state  she  simply 
dismissed  it,  turning  sharply  to  the  immediate  object  of 
her  visit. 

**  As  you  will,  sir,"  she  said,  bowing.  "  I  own  that  you  have 
been  always  so  kind  to  me  that  the  subject  is  not  one  which 
has  often  disturbed  me ;  and  if  it  gives  you  pain  to  think 
of  it,  I  will  be  silent  about  it  always.  I,  too,  know  what 
pain   is." 

She  spoke  these  last  words  between  her  teeth,  her  hands 
clasped  in  that  way  she  had  when  much  moved,  her  body  a 
little  bent  towards  him  in  her  eagerness  and  the  whole  figure 
expressive  of  the  effort  to  subdue  ^lain  and  x)assion. 

**  My  dear  Dahlia,''  he  said,  laying  his  hand  gently  on  her 
ahoolder  and  eam^tly  scanning  her  face,  *^  You  startle  me, 
what  has  happened  ?" 

She  rose ;  it  was  impossible  to  sit  still ;  his  very  kindness 
made  her  feel  the  more  bitter  towards  Kuth.  Tears  were 
in  her  eyes — angry  tears — and  she  wiped  them  impatiently 
away. 

•*  I  am  glad  that  I  may  speak  freely  to  you.    I  feel  as  iS  ^o\xv% 


118  Of^  HIGH  DEGREE. 

great  wall  that  stood  up  between  us  had  been  broken  down.  I 
came  determined  to  speak,  even  if  I  killed  you,  as  they  told  me 
I  should  do.     Forgive  me  for  that." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  what  is  it  that  is  wrong,  for  there  must  be 
something  very  seriously  ^vrong  to  aflfect  you  in  this  way." 

"There  is,  and  hitherto  I  have  thought  that  you  were  partly 
to  blame  for  it.     But  I  know  now  you  cannot  be  " 

"  Who  knows  ?"  he  said,  with  some  uncomfortable  feeling 
that  he  heard  her  unconsciously  repeating  Ruth's  charge  against 
him. 

"  I  know  it  cannot  be,"  she  cried.  "You  asked  me  if  I  cared 
for  Stephen,  and  I  told  you  that  I  did.  Then,  to  lix  my  way- 
ward fancy  as  you  said,  you  fixed  my  fori  une  u^wn  the  event  of 
my  marriage." 

"I  did  not  think  you  were  desperately  in  love  with  him  at 
that  time,  but  I  did  think  you  would  learn  to  like  him  and  he 
to  like  you." 

"  I  have  learned  to  love  him,"  was  the  exclamation,  and  her 
whole  soul  was  in  her  eyes. 

"  And  he—?" 

"  And  he  has  learnt  to  hate  me." 

There  was  a  pause.  3Ir.  Dottridge  was  distressed  as  well  as 
amazed ;  but  he  still  hoped  that  even  yet  things  might  not  be 
quite  so  bad  as  she  and  Rapier  appeared  to  make  out.  If  they 
were — then  his  love  had  made  him  a  demon  of  tyranny,  and  he 
knew  love  should  not  do  that. 

He  took  one  of  her  hands  and  held  it  between  his  own. 

"You  are  talking  very  excitedly,  Dahlia,"  he  said,  witli 
calmness  that  was  soothing,  because  the  anxiety  that  was  in  it 
was  apparent.  He  even  tried  to  smile  re-assuringly.  "  But  in 
spite  of  your  wild  words  I  hope  that  this  is  only  one  of  tho>e 
dangerous  quarrels  between  man  and  wife  which,  although  they 
frequently  lead  to  hatred  and  separation,  may  be,  if  honestly 
guided,  only  the  beginning  of  real  happiness." 

"  Oh,  it  might  be,  it  might  be,  if  you  will  only  help  me." 

"  I  help  you,  my  child  I  Why  I  have  no  greater  desire,  as  I 
have  just  told  you.     But  you  must  tell  me  how." 

"Take  Ruth  away  from  him,"  she  said  fiercely. 

"Ruth!" 

"  Yes,  Ruth !  8he  has  risen  from  the  dead  to  ruin  our 
happiness.  Oh!  if  you  could  only  know  how  happy  we  were 
imtil  she  came  back.  1  knew  that  at  the  first  he  did  not  care 
so  much  for  me  as  he  did  for  her.  I  own  that  at  the  first  I 
sought  to  marry  him,  thinking  as  much  of  the  money  as  of  my 
liking  for  him.  But  that  all  changed,  and  if  I  had  been  the 
greatest  heiress  in  the  world  and  was  to  be  made  a  beggar  by 
marrying  him,  I  would  have  done  it.  He,  too,  was  changing  as 
I  had  done.     He  did  like  me  to  begin  with — he  yielded  tecause 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  119 

he  saw  the  danger  to  me  of  his  refusal.  He  loved  only  Ruth  ; 
hut  she  was  dead.  He  cared  for  me  more  than  for  any  other 
woman,  except  his  mother  and  sisters.  All  was  going  well  with 
us,  and  in  time  he  would  have  been  satisfied.'' 

"  And  he  will  be  yet." 

"  No,  never  now." 

«  Why  not  T 

*'  It  is  not  only  because  Ruth  is  here,  and  that  Ruth  is  alive, 
hut  because  he  has  discovered  the  contract  imder  which  I 
married  him.  Then,  too,  he  finds  that  Ruth  is  alive  and  free. 
But  for  that  he  might  have  forgiven  me.  He  never  will  forgive 
me  now  unless  she  is  taken  away.  He  never  will  believe  me 
now  that  I  loved  him." 

She  sank  down  on  the  chair  again,  sobbing  hysterically,  and 
]Mr.  Dottridge  did  not  si>eak.  His  mind  was  clouded,  for  he 
saw  the  whole  terror  of  the  position.  He  wished  with  all  his 
soul  that  he  could  have  done  half  as  much  to  prevent  this 
marriage,  which  seemed  to  promise  so  much  happiness  to 
everyone,  as  he  had  done  to  bring  it  about. 

He  had  said  repeatedly  to  Ruth  that  in  all  his  plans  regarding 
it  he  was  actuated  by  selfish  motives ;  but  he  felt,  with  u 
keenness  now  that  he  had  never  before  experienced,  how  cruelly 
selfish  his  motives  had  been. 

It  had  all  seemed  so  simple  to  him.  Here  was  a  wayward, 
impulsive  girl,  who  might  fall  a  prey  to  the  first  showy 
adventurer  who  accosted  her,  knowing  that  she  was  likely  to 
have  a  handsome  dowry,  and  he  had  been  anxious  to  secure  her 
l)Osition  in  life.  Here  was  a  man  of  goodly  presence,  with  a 
comfortable  home,  but  involved  in  difficulties,  although  not  of 
liis  own  making.  This  man  was  his  own  cousin  ;  he  knew  him 
to  be  a  gentleman,  and  therefore  to  be  trusted.  He  knew  him 
to  have  an  attachment  for  another  woman,  but  he  believed  it 
was  not  of  so  deep  a  nature  as  to  stand  the  test  of  time  and 
absence.  What  then  could  be  kindlier  than  to  lift  him  at  once 
out  of  his  difficulties  and  give  him  a  handsome  wife,  although 
not  the  one  he  sought. 

True,  he  might  have  done  so  much  for  him  and  given  him 
the  woman  he  sought;  but  then  she  happened  to  be  necessary 
to  his  own  existence,  and  he  could  not  give  her  up  without 
making  some  effort  to  keep  her  to  himself. 
Was  it  an  unfair  advantage  he  had  taken  ? 
He  had  asked  that  question  again  and  again,  and  he  had 
always  answered  it  in  the  negative.  When  he  heard  that  the 
marriage  had  actually  taken  place  he  felt  assured  that  he 
had  acted  fisdrly.     What  had  he  asked  /     Only  that  this  man 

should  be  &ithful  for  one  year,  and  he  hiid  not 

Stom  that  was  unjust  to  him,  and  he  dare  not  be  unjust  to 
now.     Circumstances  beyond  the  skill  of  either  to  foresee 


120  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

had  made  liim  faithless,  although  that  was  too  hard  a  word  to 
use  for  an  action  which  was,  after  all,  the  result  of  accident. 
But  for  that  the  man  would  have  been  faithful.  WeU,  wha(. 
then  ? 

He  beh'ved  that  theiij  on  the  return  from  Australia,  he  would 
hive  made  no  attempt  to  interfere  between  him  and  Ruth.  The 
.accident  had  come  in  to  aid  his  purpose,  and  he  had  been  u]» 
till  now  glad  of  it ;  but  he  could  be  glad  no  longer,  with  this 
weeping,  distracted  woman  before  him,  a  living  protest  against 
his  scheme. 

Mr.  Dott ridge  started  from  his  remorseful  reverie,  and  gave 
himself  a  moral  shake  by  the  shoulders. 

The  ])ast  was  past.  What  he  had  to  do  now  was  to  set 
things  right  for  the  present ;  and  lie  believed  that  it  was  in  his 
power  to  do  it. 

Dahlia  had  again  succeeded  in  getting  her  emotions  some- 
what under  control,  when  he  laid  his  hand  gently  on  her 
head. 

"  I  have  made  a  mistake.  Dahlia.  I  thought  that  I  was  to 
make  you  and  Stephen  and  all  of  us  happy.  I  have  made  a  terrible 
blunder.  You  appealed  to  me  to  set  it  right,  and  I  think  1 
know  the  way." 

"  How  ?  how  ?" 

"  I  will  ask  Ruth  to  be  my  wife,"  he  said,  deliberately. 

Dahlia  rose. 

''  8he  will  refuse  you — she  loves  him." 

"  I  do  not  think  she  will  refuse  me  when  she  knows  all." 

"  She  will  refuse  you,"  persisted  Dahlia,  obstinately  ;  "  but  if 
she  does,  I  shall  then  [know  that  there  is  no  hope  for  me.  If 
she  was  married  I  know  that  Stephen  would  return  to  me." 

"  You  shall  have  your  wish,"  said  Mr.  Dottridge,  gravely. 

"  When  shall  I  know  ?" 

'*  In  a  few  minutes — wait  here  and  you  shall  learn." 

'MjIo—I  wait." 


CHAPTER  L. — Tracjady  in  the  Drawing-room. 

SCKXE  III. 

Individual  conceptions  of  what  might,  could,  would,  or  should 
happen  are  seldom  realised. 

As  he  stepped  meditatively  towards  the  drawing-room,  Mr. 
Dottridge  had  no  doubt  in  his  own  mind  that  the  result  of  his 
interview  with  Ruth  would  be  their  marriage.  What  was  thei'e 
to  hinder  it  ?  She  cared  for  no  one — next  to  Stephen — so  much 
as  himself.  She  hiid  proved  his  devotion  to  her;  she  knew  that, 
if  it  were  within  the  comi)ass  of  human  power  to  make  her 
happy  he  would  do  it.  She  knew  that  she  could  not  have 
the  happiness  she  had  ho{)ed  for  with  Meredith,  and  so  what  was 
there  to  prevent  her  trying  to  be  happy  with  him. 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  121 

He  did  not  see  the  meanness  of  allowing  his  own  wish  to  be 
happy  with  a  woman,  to  make  him  try  to  force  her  to  overcome 
repugnance.  Certainly  in  this  case  it  was  not  exactly 
repugnance ;  for  Rutli  knew  him  well,  and  esteemed  his  many 
goo<l  qualities.    But  she  did  not,  could  not,  would  not,  love  him. 

Jle  said  to  himself; 

*•  I^y-and-bye  she  will  learn  to  love  me.  She  has  a  generous 
nature,  and  she  knows  how  much  I  have  sacriiiced  for  her.  She 
<annot  help  yielding  when  she  remembers  that  and  sees  how 
much  happiness  she  may  confer  upon  others. 

When  everything  was  explained  to  lier — when  it  was  made 
olear  that  by  marrying  him  she  could  make  the  home  of 
Derewood  happy — that  she  could  save  the  distracted  Dahlia 
from  utter  despair,  and  that  she  could  restore  St^ephen 
.Meredith  to  reason — she  could  not  do  otherwise  than  consent, 
unless — 

Now  that  was  a  thing  which  had  never  occurred  to  him 
before.  Here  was  this  woman  constantly  with  him  ;  her  every 
action,  almost  her  every  thought,  known  to  him;  and  there 
had  never  been  any  sign  which  could  suggest  that  any  man, 
♦fxcejit  Stephen  or  himself,  had  entered  seriously  into  lier  mind 
in  relation  to  marriage. 

But  why  might  it  not  be  that  others  had  occupied  her 
mind  ? 

He  dismissed  the  thought,  imi)iiti<*nt  at  it  and  at  himself 
for  entertaining  it.  He  knew  her  too  well  to  think  it  possible 
tliat  another  man  had  found  a  moment's  consideration  with 
Iier. 

Bmssey  was  in  the  hall,  looking  perfectly  contented,  under 
the  impression  that  a  pleasant  family  party  was  being  held. 
He  was  decidedly  startled  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  his 
master  with  the  command  : 

*'  Tell  Miss  Clark  I  would  like  to  speak  tf)  her  in  the  drawing- 
room  on  impoitant  business." 

'-Sii-r*  gasped  the  worthy  old  servant,  as  if  a  ghost  had 
aippeared  before  him. 

Nir.  Dottridge  re]^)eated  his  command. 

••  But  Miss  Clark  is  in  the  drawing-room.  She  has  been 
there  for  ever  so  long,  and  she  has  seen  ever  so  many  people. 
^i^he  hasn't  come  out  to  luncheon !" 

The  fact  that  she  had  not  come  out  to  luncheon  was,  in 
Brassey's  mind,  most,  absolute  proof  that  she  was  still  in  the 
room. 

Mr.  Dottridge  jiassed  on,  but  when  he  touched  the  handle  of 
the  door  his  heart  seemed  to  miss  a  beat ;  he  was  conscious 
that  he  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  his  fate.  Whatever  good 
or  ill  might  happen  to  othei*s  as  tlie  consequence  of  R\ilV% 


122  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

answer  to  what  he  was  about  to  say-  -it  was  life  or  death  to 
him. 

Have  you  ever  climbed  a  high  mountain — re|)eatedly  dis- 
ai)i)ointed  by  finding  each  new  steep  only  the  prelude  to 
another — and  at  last,  having  reached  the  summit,  lain  down 
to  rest,  panting  and  tired?  A  clear,  blue  sky  over  head; 
mountains  like  jagged  marbles  lying  around  you,  and  villages 
like  toy  places  at  your  feet.  How  glorious  it  all  seems ;  how 
masterful  you  feel,  and  you  quote  with  something  like  full 
appreciation  of  the  sense  of  the  much  i>araphrased  (] notation. 
"Monarch  of  all  I  sur\'ey.''  Then  suddenly  there  sweeps  a 
white  mist  over  all  that  lies  below  you,  veiling  everything  from 
yoiur  sight.  The  great  white  thing  creeps  gradually  up  and 
around  you,  covering  every  landmark  you  have  noted,  and — 
although  you  have  still  the  clear  sky  above — bewildering  you 
as  to  what  direction  you  ought  to  take  in  order  to  reach  your 
haven. 

That  was  precisely  the  jiosition  of  Mr.  Dottridge  as  he  paused 
at  the  door. 

He  had  climbed  the  height,  stee^)  over  steep,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  a  clear  way  before  him;  but  now  there  came 
this  mist;  his  fate  lay  behind  it,  and  he  hesitated  to  penetrate 
it.     All  that  seemed  clear  before  was  dark  now. 

Drawing  a  long  breath  he  turned  the  handle  resolutely  and 
entered. 

He  thought  Brass(*y  had  been  mistaken,  and  that  Kutli  wa> 
not  there,  the  big  room  was  so  silent.  It  was  a  ghostly- 
looking  room  at  any  time,  with  its  pale  lavender  walls  and  its 
hangings,  only  of  deeper  lavender  slashed  with  gold. 

At  this  moment  Mi*.  Dottridge  could  not  help  the  grotesque 
association  of  ideas  in  fancying  that  he  was  entering  a  wliited 
sepulchre.     But  that  was  only  for  a  moment. 

Ruth  appeared  before  him,  and  it  was  like  sunrise  upon  u 
spring  landscape. 

She  had  been  resting — or  trying  to  rest — in  her  distraction: 
and  when  the  door  opened  she  was  glad  of  any  interruption  to 
her  bewildered  thoughts.  When  she  saw  who  came  she  advanced 
quickly,  her  hands  extended  as  if  for  8upi)ort,  and  he  grasped 
them  eagerly,  feeling  that  the  mists  were  already  clearing. 

But  he  misunderstood  the  impidsive  movement.  It  did 
indicate  that  she  was  drawn  closer  towards  him  by  the  event  > 
in  which  thev  were  involved ;  but  it  also  indicated  that  she  was 
most  anxious  to  be  tender  to  him  now  on  account  of  the  paiu 
she  was  about  to  cause  him. 

In  his  joy  at  this  reception  he  was  able  to  laugh. 

"  I  see  we  have  all  been  having  a  bad  time  of  it.     You  are 

looking  almost — nay,  you  are  looking  whiter  than  Dahlia.    And 

here  is  Stephen  kicking  up  such  a  fuss  that  I  am  afraid  to  see 


4C 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  123 

him.     You  must  help  me  out  of  all  this  confounded  nonsense." 

Her  hands  were  still  resting  in  his,  and  she  was  looking  very 
steadily  in  his  face. 

**  Yes,  I  must  helj)  you — it  seems  as  if  I  must  help  everyone 
out  of  this  cruel  position.  Have  you  ever  wished  that  we  had 
sunk  in  the  small  boat  before  reaching  land  ?  I  have — I  have 
wished  it  many  a  time  within  the  last  hour." 

'*  I  have  done  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  am  very  glad  indeed 
to  be  at  Kemertou  again,  and  most  glad  to  have  you  with 
me." 

"And  I  am  sorry." 

8he  said  it  so  bitterly  and  so  sincerely  — that  was  the  worst 
of  it — her  friend  wondered  and  was  taken  aback.  Here  now 
a  little  bit  of  the  mist  was  blown  away ;  he  determined  to 
clear  it  with  one  broad  sweep  of  his  hand. 

**  You  have  seen  Dahlia  ?"  he  said,  slowly. 
Yes,  and  I  have  seen  Stephen,"  she  answered,  calmly. 
Very  well,  then,  you  know  the  whole  position.  I  have  not 
seen  Stephen  yet,  because,  as  Rapier  tells  me,  he  is  in  such  a 
frantic  state  that  he  is  likely  to  murder  me.  1  do  not  believe 
that,  of  course ;  but  after  what  Dahlia  tells  me,  I  want  to  see 
him  in  your  presence." 

*'  In  my  presence  !" 

"Yes,  in  your  presence  ....  Now  Ruth,  we  must  clear 
this  matter  to-day.  Whatever  harm  I  have  done  I  am  sorry  for 
it.  Rut  I  recognise  no  harm  so  great  that  it  may  not  be 
forgiven ;  and  whatever  it  may  be,  it  is  greater  in  its  effect  than 
it  was  in  all  my  calculations." 

*'  If  you  could  have  seen  !"  she  exclaimed  in  a  tremulous 
voice — 

*'  Ay,  that  is  what  we  all  say — if  we  could  hav(*  seen.  Hut, 
be  just  to  me — surely  there   is  something  due  to  my  love  for 

you." 

She  withdrew  her  hands,  and  shrank  back  from  him,  trembling. 

*'  That  is  the  cause  of  all  our  trouble." 

"Then  end  the  trouble — be  my  wife.  I  do  not  say  be  mistress 
of  Kemerton,  for  you  are  the  master  of  its  master.  I  only  say, 
make  the  best  of  a  bad  position — I  own  it  is  a  bad  position — 
8ave  Dahlia  from  insanity,  and  save  Meredith  from  something 


worse." 


She  stood  like  a  reed  swaying  in  a  great  wind ;  and  then  she 
spoke  in  a  low  voice,  but  clear  as  a  sharj)  bell  in  a  still,  frosty 
morning : 

**  I  would  say  *  Yes,'  but  I  have  promised  him  to  say  *  No.' 
Were  I  to  yield  to  you  it  would  be  the  proof  of  my  falsehood 
to  him.'' 

(To  be  continued). 


BESIDE    THE    SEA. 


I  love  to  sit  by  the  pebbly  side 

Of  the  sea,  when  the  sun  goes  down, 
And  hear  the  rush  of  the  rising  tide, 
Where  the  stately  ships  at  anchor  ride, 

And  the  hum  from  the  far  oflF  town. 
The  cable  clank,  and  the  mystic  song. 

With  its  chorus  wild  and  clear; 
And  the  measured  tread  round  the  capstan  head, 

And  the  sailors'  seaward  cheer. 

1  love  to  muse  by  the  i)eaceful  side 
Of  the  sea,  when  the  gloomy  night 

Comes  down  to  the  deep  where  moonbeams  ride. 

And  seaweeds  drift  with  the  ebbing  tide, 
In  the  shades  of  the  soft  twilight ; 

1  wonder  oft,  as  I  muse  alone. 
Where  the  little  shell  fish  cling. 

If  the  zephyrs  know,  as  they  seaward  blow. 
The  songs  that  the  sad  waves  sing. 

I  love  to  stand  by  the  rocky  shore. 

When  the  storm-winds  sweep  the  sea. 
And  the  huge  white  waves  come  rushing  o'er 
'J'he  mighty  deep,  with  a  sullen  roar. 

Like  an  avalanche  set  free; 
There  is  something  in  the  hollow  roar, 

As  the  waves  unceasing  roU, 
Tliat  seems  to  re^ieat,  with  a  restless  beat, 

Tlie  thoughts  of  my  inner  soul. 

BaiTij  Island.  Tylke. 


WELSH    OHAIIACIEU    SKETCHES. 


THE  VlLLMiV.  GROCER. 


Xot  the  grwer  of  a  country  village,  where  fanning  constitutes 
the  buBinesM ;  where  a  plough  or  a  liarrow,  painted  in  blue  and 
red,  may  be  seen  at  the  front  door,  and  the  stock  — ranging  from 
treacle  to  coflf\n  plates,  fix)m  tfnitenny  nails  to  bacon — ts  varied 
with  haltere,  lamb  draughts,  and  other  rural  indications.  No, 
the  grocer  I  have  in  my  mind's  eye  belonged  to  a  village  in  a 
mining  diHtrict.  Ten  years  ago  not  a  cottage  was  to  be  ceen 
there.  Through  the  valley  a  stream  ran,  scarcely  noticeable  in 
tlie  summer  days,  but  turbulent  enough  in  winter.  The  land 
wan  half  mareh,  \Ksor\j  tilled,  and  covered  in  great  part  with 
brushwood.  Then  came  mining  engineers  and  prospected,  next 
turf  was  cnt,  and  sinking  began,  and  one  could  scarcely  get  to 
the  spot  for  mud,  and  planks,  and  itoles,  and  casks.     One  ?iTift 


126      WELSH  CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 

day  the  gradually-increasing  tip  showed  a  darker  tint.  Hurrah  ! 
the  coal  was  won ;  and  then  forthwith  began  the  history  of  my 
village.  Street  after  street  arose  of  colliers'  dwellings — two 
rooms  up  and  two  down,  with  a  square  yard  or  two  at  back. 
And  as  the  streets  increased  bigger  houses  were  built  at  the 
comers  for  unborn  *'  Lions,"  "  White  Horses,"  and  "  Brown 
Cows."  Migrants  appeared ;  sinkers,  masons,  and  caq^enters 
began  to  inhabit  the  completed  dwellings,  and  very  soon  dozens 
of  colliers  were  to  be  found  settling  down  and  ready  to  operate 
upon  the  seam  of  coal. 

It  took  months  before  the  settlement  assumed  a  "  settled  " 
look,  and  one  could  forget  the  stunted  oak  there,  the  thorn 
bushes  yonder,  where  houses  now  stood,  and  a  year  or  more 
before  the  good  wives  found  it  needless  to  travel  over  the  moun- 
tains for  most  of  the  necessaries  of  life.  But  step  by  step  the 
l)rogress  towards  civilisation  was  made,  and  a  large  chai)el  showed 
itself,  and  a  ''  Lion  "  attracted  the  wonderment  of  collier  boys 
iind  satisfied  the  thirst  of  collier  men.  Grocers,  also,  were  to  be 
found,  who  took  to  drapery,  and  did  a  little  in  drugs,  until  a 
regular  druggist  came  upon  the  scene.  But  still  my  grocer  did 
not  show  himself.  He  was  yet  in  embryo,  working  as  a  collier. 
His  wife,  an  industrious  woman,  first  took  to  sell  a  few  oranges 
and  apples ;  and  every  market  day  increased  her  stock,  adding 
sweets  and  investing  in  cakes.  Far-seeing  woman ;  she  soon 
offered  for  sale  papers  of  pins,  needles,  and  other  trifles,  and  in 
time  the  window  put  on  a  comfortable  look.  As  our  friend  the 
grocer  in  embryo  came  back  night  after  night  he  was  pleased 
with  the  signs  of  improvement.  The  sale  added  some  trifle  to 
liis  earnings,  and  he  and  his  wife  chatted  pleasantly  over  the 
growth  of  the  little  shop,  and  planned  and  contrived  for  the 
future.  For  a  time  a  table  did  duty  as  a  counter ;  but  by  a  great 
effort,  a  real  counter  was  had,  and  the  little  room  took  to  itself 
the  character  of  a  shop.  Then  came  another  actor  in  the  trans- 
formation. A  commercial  traveller,  "doing"  with  the  regular 
grocers  and  drapers,  had  his  attention  caught  by  the  efforts  of 
the  collier's  house  to  struggle  into  a  shop,  and  looked  in  and 
around.  He  was  pleased  with  the  signs,  and  showed  his  wares ; 
but  "  cash  on  receipt  of  the  invoice  "  was  the  necessity.  The 
good  woman  was  troubled  in  her  mind,  for  the  adviser  in 
difficulties,  the  commentator  on  her  actions — Johir — was  in  the 
pit,  and  so  she  stood,  and  looked,  and  sighed,  and  hesitated. 
The  commercial  gentleman  knew  what  hesitation  meant.  "  The 
woman  who  hesitates  is  lost."  He  saw  the  hesitation,  I  repeat, 
and  pressed  his  wares.  She  made  a  bold  effort,  irresolution 
faded,  and  the  first  order  was  given.  In  his  vocabulary,  he  went 
away  with  "  a  good  line."  There  was  consternation  in  the  family 
circle  when  John  came  home.  Not  but  she  had  generally 
managed  to  have  her  own  way,  John  being  disposed  to  take 


WELSH  CHARACTER  SKETCHES.      127 

things  easy  ;  but  this  was  such  a  venture  I  '•  T  may  have  to  go 
to  gaol,  Mary  Faeh,"  he  said,  wlien  the  astounding  news  was  told, 
after  the  iX)tatoes  and  the  meat,  garnished  with  savoury  onions, 
had  been  turned  out  on  the  dish,  and  John  had  feasted  thereon. 
She  was  a  wise  woman,  was  Mary.  Even  then  John  kept  his 
knife  and  fork  standing  sentry  beside  his  plate,  and  showed  his 
white  eyeballs  ominously.     He  had  not  washed. 

*^  How  much  wass  you  say  ?"  he  asked  after  a  deep  breath. 

*'  'Bout  five  i)Ounds,''  she  rei)lied,  drawing  her  breath  too. 

"  I)uw  anwyl,''  he  cried,  •'  I  not  get  that  in  a  month.  What 
if  things  don't  sell  ?" 

There  was  not  much  sleep  that  night,  but  the  morning 
brought  stronger  hopes.  They  must  do  their  best.  In  less 
than  a  week  the  parcel  came.  It  was  a  collection  of  very 
necessary  things,  and  the  wife  went  about  amongst  her  friends 
showing  the  goods,  and  so  successfully  that  when  John  came 
home  she  was  able  to  tell  him  that  one  pound's  worth  had 
been  sold,  and  partly  paid  for.  They  had  two  or  three  days 
l>efore  sending  the  money,  and  by  the  help  of  a  friend  the 
cash  was  made  up  and  remitted,  and  another  parcel  ordered. 
Ijong  before  the  traveller  came  two  or  three  i)arcels  had  been 
cleared,  and,  being  advised  of  this,  he  was  very  pleasant,  and 
<lid  not  hesitate  to  book  all  they  wanted.  And  it  so  happened 
that  when  the  chests  and  packages  began  to  arrive,  and  the 
little  room  looked  thoroughly  shop-like,  John,  coming  back 
one  evening,  and  surveying  the  place,  said,  "  Marry,  you  got 
enough  work  to  do  to  mind  shildren.  I  not  go  down  pit 
again."  And  he  put  an  apron  on,  got  a  larger  window  made, 
and  became  to  all  intents  and  purposes  the  village  grocer. 
He  was  a  persevering  man,  and  his  wife  was  a  careful  woman. 
•Still,  book  debts  accumulated.  Old  fellow  colliers,  presuming 
on  Ids  friendship,  figured  therein  for  larger  sums  than  was 
]irudent;  and  when  John  totalled  up  these  debts,  and  took 
stock,  he  found,  though  he  had  in  the  coarse  of  a  year  or 
two's  trading  done  moderately  well,  yet,  if  every  creditor  were 
to  be  paid,  tne  residue  would  be  but  small. 

**  Tell  you  what  it  is.  Marry,''  he  exclaimed,  after  i)rofound 
calculations,  "  I'll  break."  And  John  did,  and  his  lawyer  offered 
a  composition,  which  was  accepted.  After  this,  John  flourished. 
His  ** breaking"  gave  him  a  small  capital,  and,  though  the  old 
commercials  fought  shy  of  him  for  a  while,  new  ones  trusted 
him ;  John  waxed  comfortable  and  fat,  and  became  a  member  of 
one  of  the  public  boards  of  the  district.  He  had  long  been  a 
deacon,  and  at  the  latest  accounts  he  was  going  to  run  for  a 
guardian. 

Ap  Adda. 


OUT  IN  THE  SNOW. 


CHAPTER  I. — Facing  Death  in  the  Storm. 

You  ask  me  for  a  tale.  I  cannot  draw  on  my  imagination — 
being  a  thoroughly  practical  person — but  I  may  possibly  interest 
you  a  little  by  the  relation  of  some  events  which  occurred  during 
my  wanderings. 

You  are  aware  that  at  one  period  of  my  life  I  was,  with  your 
father,  engaged  in  an  occupation  which  necessitated  frequent 
removals  from  place  to  place,  sometimes  alone,  sometimes 
together,  and  that  our  journeys  were  more  frequent  in  winter 
than  in  summer. 

In  the  latter  part  of  November,  1 846,  I  had  been  staying  for 

some  time  at  the  town  of ,  in  Devonshire,  anci,  being 

delighted  with  the  scenery  in  that  wild,  romantic  neighbourhood, 
I  had  lengthened  my  stay  beyond  what  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary, so  that  it  was  the  middle  of  December  before  I  could  make 
up  my  mind  to  move  ;  and  then  circumstances  occurred  which 
made  it  imperative  that  I  should  take  my  departure  without 
further  delay.  We  had  the  choice  of  two  routes — one,  a  better 
road  but  more  circuitous ;  the  other,  over  a  bleak  and  barren 
line  of  country,  was  considerably  shorter.  I  chose  the  latter, 
hoping  to  reach  the  first  stage  in  our  journey  before  nightfall. 
There  was,  of  course,  no  public  conveyance  that  way,  and  I  had 
great  difficulty  in  getting  a  vehicle  with  one  horse  to  take  u* 
over  so  rough  and  steep  a  road.  At  length,  however,  by  great 
solicitation,  and  the  promise  of  extra  pay  to  the  driver,  I 
succeeded  in  procuring  a  light  open  spring  cart  and  horse. 

You,  Charles,  were  one  of  my  companions,  but  you  were  too 
young  to  have  any  recollection  of  it ;  but  your  sister,  seven 
years  your  senior,  still  retains,  I  think,  a  very  vivid  remembrance 
of  that,  to  us,  memorable  journey. 

True  to  his  appointment,  our  guide,  with  his  equipage,  came 
for  us  at  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning.  The  day  was  tolerably 
fine,  though  heavy,  threatening  clouds  overhung  the  hills.  We 
were  not  over-well  provided  with  wraps  and  rugs,  but  we  made 
the  most  of  what  we  had  ;  we  folded  one  closely  round  the  little 
boy,  and  placed  him  at  the  bottom  of  the  cart  between  us. 

For  some  time  all  went  well.    The  jolting  over  the  stones 


OUT  IN  THE  SNOW.  129 

was  not  the  most  agreeable  thing  in  the  world ;  but,  being  in  good 
health  and  spirits,  we  bore  it  serenely.  Getting  nearer  the  top 
of  the  liill,  we  felt  the  air  becoming  cooler,  and  saw  gloomy, 
threatening,  leaden-looking  clouds  overcasting  the  sky.  The 
face  of  our  driver  grew  grave,  as  ever  and  anon  he  cast  an 
sinxious  gaze  upwards.  After  a  time  a  few  snow  flakes  floated 
down — very  gently  at  first,  then  gradually  increasing  until  we 
were  exposed  to  the  full  fury  of  a  mountain  snowstorm,  gaining 
in  intensity  every  minute,  with  a  drifting  wind  blowing  full  in 
our  faces,  and  almost  blinding  us. 

My  little  boy  shivered  ;  the  girl  looked  up  at  me  as  though 
to  read  my  thoughts.  We  none  of  us  said  much.  The  driver's 
face  was  ominously  anxious,  but  he  kept  on.  So  did  also  the 
snow ;  only  faster,  thicker,  darkening  the  air.  The  wind  in- 
creased in  violence ;  in  less  than  an  hour  the  ground  was  com- 
pletely covered,  and  all  trace  of  the  road  was  lost. 

Dreading  to  put  the  question,  I  at  length  said,  tremulously, 
"  Driver,  do  you  know  the  way  ?" 

After  hesitating  a  little,  he  said,  "  I  think  and  hope  we  are 
right,  but  'tis  no  easy  matter  to  keep  the  road  in  such  a 
storm." 

I  sank  again  into  silence,  wrapped  myself  and  children 
tighter,  and  drew  them  more  closely  together. 

Darker  and  darker  grew  the  atmosphere.  We  had  now  been 
on  the  rojid  nearly  three  hours,  and  were  approaching  a  most 
dreary  and  desolate  part,  where  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
snow  above  and  below — snow  which  now  began  to  freeze  as  it 
fell,  rendering  the  task  of  retaining  even  a  small  degree  of  heat 
more  and  more  difficult.  Not  a  tree  or  habitation  of  anv  kind 
was  to  be  seen. 

On  and  still  on  in  silence,  all  occupied  with  thoughts  we 
dared  not  utter.  Looking  at  our  guide  only  increased  my  fears, 
for  he  was  evidently  dismayed.  To  look  at  the  children  was  still 
worse,  for  it  created  vague  and  horrible  imiiginings  as  to  what 
our  fate  would  be.  For  another  hour  we  travelled  in  silent 
dread,  but  there  was  no  cessation  of  the  fiiUing  snow,  no  lessening 
of  the  wild,  fitful  gusts  of  wind.  An  undefined  terror  seemed  to 
have  seized  the  children,  for  they  neither  spoke  nor  moved ;  but 
their  pale,  anxious  faces  showed  they  felt  what  they  could  not 
express.  At  length  I  perceived  the  pace  was  greatly  slackened ; 
the  wheels  were  getting  clogged.  The  man  looked  up,  down, 
and  all  around,  and  then,  in  a  scarcely  articulate  voice,  he  said 
that  he  did  not  know  where  we  were,  or  which  way  to  go. 

Those  who  may  have  been  in  any  way  similarly  situated  can 
possibly  form  some  idea  of  my  state  of  mind.  To  attempt  to 
describe  it  would  be  useless.  A  scarcely  audible  ^^  What  shall 
we  do  ?"  was  followed  by  a  silent  prayer  for  deliverance.  To  go 
back  was  impossihle  ;  to  go  forward  almost  equally  so ;  to  «^^ 

J 


130  OUT  IN  THE  SNOW. 

there  certain  death  from  cold  and  exhaustion.  Darkness  was 
drawing  on  apace.  All  that  we  could  decide  upon  was  motion 
to  the  extent  of  the  poor  animal's  capability,  but  what  direction 
to  take  we  could  only  leave  to  Providence. 

Slowly,  drearily  we  moved.  My  little  boy,  whom  I  had  drawn 
closely  to  my  side,  nowbegantocry,and  toask,  "  When  he  should 
be  home  ?"  The  girl  could  scarcely  repress  her  tears.  For  me, 
there  was  nothing  but  submission  and  prayer. 

On,  still  on,  slowly,  wearily,  drearily,  until  the  children,  worn 
out  with  fatigue,  had  both  fallen  asleep.  I  was  alone  with  the 
driver,  in  that  wild,  desolate  place,  and  that  wild,  bitter  night. 
Both  were  in  the  same  plight,  and  we  had  no  consolation  to  offer 
each  other,  for  we  knew  not  whence  deliverance  could  come,  or 
if  it  would  come  at  all.  The  idea  was  gaining  ground  that  our 
fate  was  sealed,  and  hope  had  nearly  fled.  The  horse  was  now 
left  to  go  its  own  pace,  and  choose  its  own  road.  The  poor 
man's  fingers  were  powerless  to  hold  the  reins,  and  further 
guidance  appeared  useless. 

Thus  we  wandered  on,  until  darkness  and  despair  had  settled 
down  upon  us.  How  long  after  this  we  went  on  I  don't  know, 
for  1  had  sunk  to  the  bottom  of  the  cart  with  the  children.  A 
feeling  of  lethargy  was  creeping  over  me,  and  1  was  gradually 
becoming  oblivious  to  all  outward  objects.  All  that  I  was 
sensible  of  was  that  we  still  moved ;  but,  after  a  short  time,  the 
motion  ceased,  and  I  heard,  as  though  afar  off,  the  voice  of  the 
driver  saying,  "  We  can  go  no  further ;  the  honse  is  quite 
exhausted,  and  our  only  chance  for  life  is  to  get  out  and  tvalkJ* 

Consciousness  failed  me,  and  I  fainted. 

Here  the  feelings  of  the  narrator  fairly  overpowered  her,  and 
we  decided  to  hear  the  rest  of  the  adventure  from  the  daughter, 
who,  having  shared  the  danger  and  retained  her  faculties,  was 
enabled  to  continue  the  story,  which  she  did  as  follows : — 

Instead  of  lessening,  the  wind  had  increased  in  violence, 
whistling  and  sweeping  the  snow  from  the  earth  many  feet  high 
into  the  air,  and,  mingling  with  that  which  fell  from  the  clouds, 
it  enveloped  us  as  with  a  sheet,  freezing  where  it  fell.  But,  for  the 
moment,  all  was  forgotten  in  our  agonizing  fear  for  our  parent, 
whom  we  children  could  only  regard  as  dead.  Our  driver,  a 
really  kind-hearted  man,  did  all  he  could  to  comfort  us,  at  the 
same  time  using  all  i»ossible  efforts  to  restore  my  mother  to 
consciousness.  Just  then  a  swiftly-passing  cloud  revealed  a 
gleam  of  light  from  the  moon.  Faint  and  transitory  as  it  was 
it  seemed  to  impart  no  small  comfort  to  us.  My  mother  was 
slowly  coming  to  herself.  When  sufficiently  recovered,  our 
gvude  told  her  she  must  at  once  leave  the  vehicle,  and  make  for 
some  place  of  shelter  on  foot. 

Mechanically  she  endeavoured  to  obey   him,  and  with  his 
assistance,  though  with  extreme  difficulty,  she  got  out.    We 


OUT  IN  THE  SNOW.  131 

were  soon  by  her  side.  The  horse  was  freed,  and  the  cart  had 
to  be  abandoned  for  the  time.  To  add  to  the  distress  of  our 
situation,  my  mother,  having  counted  on  reaching  our  destination 
early  in  the  afternoon,  had  provided  only  a  few  cakes  and 
biscuits  for  the  journey.  Now,  for  ihe  first  time,  we  felt  hungry, 
and  my  brother  actually  cried  for  something  to  eat.  Our  little 
store  was  produced  and  divided,  our  kind  guide  persuading  my 
mother  to  partake  ;  and  then,  gathering  all  the  wraps  we  were 
able  to  carry,  we  commenced  our  march — the  driver,  with  the 
bridle  round  his  arm,  leading  the  horse,  and  holding  my  brother 
by  the  hand,  while  with  his  other  arm  he  supported  my  mother 
on  one  side.  I  endeavoured  to  do  the  like  on  the  other.  A 
footstep,  then  a  plunge  and  a  cry,  and  we  were  knee  deep  in 
snow.  A  stoppage  to  extricate  us,  then  a  few  steps  further,  and 
another  plunge,  and  another,  again  and  again  repeated,  until 
further  progress  became  impossible.  Our  poor  guide,  having 
placed  us  on  a  mound  from  whence  the  snow  had  drifted,  sat 
down  in  dumb  despair  beside  us.  Our  heart-rending  cries,  1 
believe,  alone  prevented  my  mother  from  again  losing  con- 
sciousness, for  she  felt  more  our  sufferings  than  her  own.  How 
long  we  sat  we  never  knew;  we  all  felt  alike  unwilling  and 
unable  to  proceed,  and,  doubtless,  our  perils  would  have  ended 
there  and  then  with  our  lives,  but  for  the  merciful  interposition 
of  Providence,  in  a  manner  that  seemed  almost  miraculous. 


CHAPTER  II.— Shelter  and  Kescue. 

My  mother,  my  brother  and  myself,  exhausted  by  cold,  hunger 
and  fiatigue,  were  fast  sinking  into  a  state  of  stupor.  Our  guide, 
still  with  the  bridle  over  his  arm,  and  the  horse  beside  him,  sat 
peering  into  the  gloom,  when  suddenly  he  sprang  up  crying — 
**  A  man  !"  and,  a  pale  gleam  of  moonlight  breaking  through 
the  clouds,  we  saw  the  figure  of  a  man  approaching. 

Seeing  us,  he  stopped  in  amazement. 

**  Good  heavens  I"  he  exclaimed.  "  Who  are  you  ?  and  what  are 
jou  doing  here  ?'*  Welcome,  indeed,  was  the  sound  of  his  voice, 
trhich  seemed  fx>  recall  us  from  death  to  life.  Our  tale  was  soon 
told.  We  asked  what  chance  had  brought  him  thither  ?  He 
told  us  he  was  going  some  three  miles  farther  to  see  a  relation, 
and,  regardless  of  danger,  he  had  chosen  that  path  as  being  the 
nearest ;  but,  for  the  sake  of  the  children  and  their  mother  he 
voold  render  aU  the  assistance  in  his  power.  He  remembered 
to  have  passed  a  hut  about  half  a  mile  from  where  we  were,  and 
offered  to  guide  us  to  it.  Assisting  my  mother  to  rise,  he 
took  her  in  charge,  while  our  guide,  still  leading  his  horse, 
attended  to  US. 

I  need  not  enter  into  the  details  of  out  progress.  >  We  at  YbaV 

/  2 


132  OUT  IN  THE  SNOW. 

reached  the  place  of  shelter  described,  and  there  we  took  leave 
of  our  deliverer,  with  tears  of  gratitude  and  fervent  prayers  that 
the  kindness  he  had  shown  us  might  be  repaid  a  hundred  fold. 
We  never  met  again. 

Our  troubles  were  far  from  ended  here.  Our  guide  was  the 
first  to  enter  the  hut,  to  ascertain  if  it  was  inhabited  and 
whether  we  should  find  admittance.  He  quickly  returned  and 
told  us  to  go  in,  while  he  put  his  half-frozen  horse  in  the  shed 
which  formed  part  of  the  building. 

We  obeyed  gladly,  though  the  scene  that  met  our  eyes  was 
cheerless  enough.  Five  or  six  half-naked  children  crouched 
upon  the  hearth  ;  fire  there  was  none  ;  straw  was  littered  over  the 
mud  floor,  on  which  two  pigs  were  sporting.  The  children  got 
up  and  stared  at  us  in  speechless  surprise.  In  answer  to  my 
mother's  question,  "  Was  their  mother  at  home  ?"  they  told  us 
"  She  was  gone  to  the  town,  and  had  been  gone  a  long  time." 

"  Could  they  make  us  a  fire  ?"     Yes,  they  would  light  some 
straw ;   and,  gathering  some  from  the  floor,  they  put  it  on  the 
hearth  and  set  a  light  to  it,  which  they  had  no  sooner  done,  than 
the  place  was  filled  with  smoke. 
Had  they  nothing  else  to  bum  ? 

"  No !  they  always  burnt  straw."  On  each  side  of  the  hearth 
stood  a  ricketty  stool  on  three  legs;  and  the  seats  of  two  old  chairs 
without  backs,  an  old  milking  stool  and  a  table,  completed  the 
furniture.  By  this  time  our  guide  had  come  in,  after  giving  the 
horse  some  straw  and  rubbing  the  snow  and  ice  from  its  sides. 
The  man  himself,  with  the  icicles  still  hanging  to  his  beard  and 
whiskers,  was  nearly  worn  out  with  fatigue,  hunger  and 
thirst. 

In  answer  to  our  anxious  enquiries  if  they  could  give  us  any- 
thing to  eat  or  drink,  the  children  told  us  they  had  nothing. 
All  they  could  do  was  to  melt  some  snow  in  an  earthen  crock, 
which,when  warm, we  drank  thankfully,  though  we  greatly  needed 
something  more  substantial.  Although  not  knowing  whether  we 
should  be  allowed  to  remain,  we  longed  for  the  coming  of  the 
mother  and  brother  with  food  from  the  town. 

At  last,  after  nearly  two  hours'  waiting,  we  heard  the  sound 
of  voices,  and  a  meagre,  middle-aged  woman,  with  a  sturdy  son, 
the  latter  leading  a  wretched  horse,  reached  the  threshold. 
The  woman,  on  entering  stared  at  us  with  surprise.  Our  guide 
who  was  spokesman,  told  the  story  of  our  suflFerings,  and  asked 
for  shelter  for  the  night. 

She  answered  civilly  that  we  were  welcome  to  stay,  but  she 
had  no  food  to  give  us — like  ourselves,  they  had  abandoned  their 
cart  on  the  hillside,  and  all  they  had  brought  with  them  was  a 
lump  of  fat  in  which  to  fry  a  few  potatoes  left  at  home  for  the 
children.     There  was  no  help  for  it,  and  we  were  obliged  to 


OUT  IN  THE  SNOW.  133 

them  devour  their  scanty  meal  voraciously,  and,  famishing  as  we 
were,  to  be  patient,  and  thankful  for  shelter  from  the  wild  storm 
of  that  dreadful  night. 

My  mother's  appetite  seemed  gone  ;  but  for  us  she  felt  deeply, 
and  with  difficulty  restrained  her  tears.  The  man  affected  a 
cheerfulness  he  could  not  really  have  felt,  and  bore  all  bravely. 
My  little  brother  cried  himself  to  sleep  while  I  sat  silently 
watching  my  mother. 

When  the  meal  was  ended  the  question  arose  of  how  we  were 
to  be  disposed  of  for  the  night.  They  had  no  beds  to  offer  us, 
and  so  it  was  arranged  that  my  mother  and  myself  should 
remain  where  we  were,  that  our  guide  should  lie  down  in  one- 
comer  of  the  room,  and  one  of  the  boys  in  another,  while  the 
rest  of  the  family  went  to  roost  in  the  loft,  as  usual.  Some  fresh 
straw  was  littered,  on  which  the  man  and  the  boy  lay  down, 
both  soon  giving  audible  evidence  of  being  asleep.  My  little 
brother  remained  on  the  hearth.  Then  all  was  still  except  the 
heavy  breathing  of  the  sleepers.  My  mother  never  closed  her 
eyeB,  but  I  fell  into  a  slumber,haunted  by  some  imaginary  terror, 
from  which  I  recalled  my  wandering  senses  to  a  reality  that 
was  trying  enough,  but  not  so  terrible  as  those  hours  when  we 
sat  and  faced  death  in  the  snow  drift. 

Morning  dawned  at  last,  and  the  family  descended.  The 
straw  fire  again  was  kindled,  and  again  tliey  cooked  their 
potatoes,  but  with  none  to  spare  for  us,  and  heedless  even  of 
my  little  brother's  t^ars,  as  he  saw  the  other  children 
eating.  Such  cruel  selfishness  seems  hard  to  believe ;  but  a 
long  course  of  privation  had  hardened  these  poor  people's  hearts, 
and,  for  the  shelter  they  gave  us,  we  may  well  forgive  them  for 
refiiaing  us  the  food  they  so  sorely  needed  themselves. 

Oar  guide  who  had  slept  heavily,wa8  awakened  by  my  brother's 
cries  ;  after  which  he  and  my  mother  consulted  as  to  what  was 
best  to  be  done.  Food  must  be  obtained  as  soon  as  possible,  it 
was  clear.  In  answer  to  my  mother's  anxious  enquiries,  the 
woman  said  there  was  a  mill  some  two  miles  and  a  half  off, 
where,  possibly  some  bread  might  be  obtained.  It  was  then 
decided  that  our  guide,  with  the  eldest  boy  to  direct  him, 
should  try  to  reach  the  mill,  taking  the  horse  with  them  to 
carry  the  provisions  they  hoped  to  obtain. 

So  away  they  started;  and, although  we  knew  it  would  be 
hours  before  they  could  return,  the  hope  of  food  at  last 
sustained  and  cheered  us.  My  mother  and  I  went  out  with 
the  other  children  to  make  snow  balls. 

The  poor  woman  told  my  mother  the  story  of  their  poverty. 
Her  husband,  a  small  &rmer,  had,  from  ill  health,  been 
unaUe  to  attend  to  his  work.  His  family  increased,  his 
crops  fidled,  he  was  unable  to  pay  the  rent,  their  goods  ^^i^ 
and  Bold,  juod  the   scanty  furniture  of  that  N7tetc^\i^ 


UA  OUT  IN  THE  SNOW. 

liut,  the  worn-out  horse  which  no  one  would  buy,  and  the 
two  pigs,  left  them  for  pity's  sake,  alone  remained  of  all  their 
goods.  But,  added  the  woman,  oiu:  eldest  son  is  an  industrious 
youth,  and  by  his  help  we  hope  still  to  see  better  days.  A 
weak  cough  and  low  groans,  coming  from  the  loft  at  this 
moment,  startled  my  mother,  and,  in  answer  to  her  enquiry, 
the  woman  said  it  was  her  husband.  Miserable  indeed  was  the 
sick  man's  lot — without  proper  food  or  covering  in  that  dreary 
place  I 

After  some  hours  of  anxious  watching  and  waiting,  the 
children  came  running  in  to  announce  the  return  of  our 
messengers. 

"  Did  they  bring  bread  ?" 

"Yes,  in    plenty." 

Joyful  sounds !  never  was  the  most  luxurious  fare  looked 
on  with  more  glistening  eyes,  or  eaten  with  greater  enjoy- 
ment. 

After  a  short  rest,  our  good  faithful  driver  started  again. 
He  was  to  make  his  way  first  to  the  town,  get  provisions 
and  a  fresh  horse,  and  return  as  soon  as  possible  to  fetch  us 
away.  But  we  knew  that  it  would  be  morning,  at  the  soonest, 
before  we  should  welcome  him  back  again.  Evening  came, 
and  my  mother,  worn  out  with  all  she  had  gone  through, 
declared  she  could  not  sit  up  again  another  night.  So  she  asked 
our  hostess,  who  was  by  this  time  anxious  to  do  what  she 
could  for  us,  if  it  were  not  possible  to  let  her  have  some  dry 
place  where  she  could  lie  down. 

After  much  deliberation,  it  was  decided  to  try  a  change.  The 
family  should  come  down  stairs,  and  we  should  have  the  outside 
loft ;  the  poor  invalid  remaining  in  the  inner  one.  We  had 
some  difficulty  to  get  there,  and  it  was  indeed  but  wretched 
shelter.  Wrapped  in  our  cloaks  and  shawls  we  laid  down,  and, 
completely  worn  out,  were  soon  fast  asleep.  How  long  a  time 
had  passed  I  do  not  know — but  it  must  have  been  some  hours, 
when  I  was  awakened  by  a  movement  and  a  faintly  whispered 
«  Polly." 

I  summoned  courage  to  answer  faintly  "  What  is  it  ?" 

"  We  shall  be  robbed  and  murdered,"  said  my  mother,  in  a 
voice  of  terror. 

In  my  fright  I  spamg  up. 

My  mother  was  trembling  violently.  For  safety  she  said  she 
liad  sewn  a  large  sum  of  money  in  her  pocket,  on  the  side  on 
which  she  was  lying.  Judge,  then,  her  feelings  on  being  aroused 
by  a  tug  at  her  treasmre.  What  could  it  mean  ?  Had  we  been 
saved  from  one  kind  of  death  to  undergo  another,  far  more 
horrible  ?  Could  the  tale  of  the  invalid  have  been  a  fiction, 
invented  to  throw  us  oft'  om-  guard  ? 

We  were  now  sitting  up,  speechless  mt\\  fea.T,  in  momentary 


OUT  IN  THE  SNOW.  135 

€xi)ectatioii  of  death.  Another  pull — thrilling  us  with  agony. 
My  mother  made  a  convulsive  grasp  at  her  ^Kjcket — her  hand 
came  in  contact  with  something  cold  and  soft.  Was  it  a  man's 
hand?  Another  pull  and,  then  again  she  felt  something — she 
knew  not  wliat — but,  rendered  desi)erate  by  fear,  she  tried  to 
gi-aspit;  tlien  the  truth  flashed  on  her.  It  was  the  horse, 
which,  poking  its  nose  through  the  chinks  in  the  floor,  wa^ 
eating  tlie  straw  on  which  we  lay  I 

Tlie  revulsion  of  feeling  was  too  much,  and  she  burst  into 
tears.  We  sle})t  no  more  that  night,  and  with  the  dawn  we 
had  the  great  happiness  of  hearing  the  roll  of  wheels  and  the 
voice  of  our  guide.  He  had  come  back  witli  a  fresh  horse, 
bringing  our  cart  and  all  its  valuables,  and  a  supply  of  cooked 
provisions,  knives  and  forks  and  some  bottles  of  ale. 

While  the  horse  was  resting  we  enjoyed  a  really  good  meal, 
sharing  our  luxuries  with  our  half-starved  liostess  and  her 
children.  Our  guide  related  to  us  what  anxiety  had  been  felt 
as  to  our  fate,  and  the  interest  his  story  of  our  adventures  had 
excited.  When  the  feast  was  over,  and  all  our  tilings  had  been 
collected,  we  bade  our  i)oor  friends  farewell,  giving  them  thanks 
and  money  in  retm-n  for  the  shelter  which  had  assuredly  saved 
our  lives.  After  a  drive  of  some  hours  we  entered  Lynemouth, 
putting  up  at  the  first  convenient  inn,  where  we  found 
ourselves  objects  of  considerable  interest  and  curiosity.  In  the 
kitchen  our  good  guide  told  the  story  of  our  adventures  again 
and  again.  It  was  the  Sabbath ;  the  bells  were  ringing  for 
evening  prayer,  and  our  hearts  were  full  of  thankfulness  for  our 
deliverance  from  danger.  Happy  were  our  slumbers  that  night 
and  glad  our  awakening  on  the  morrow.  We  shortly  afterwards 
reached  our  home  at  Minehead  in  safety.  Many  years  have  passed 
since  these  events  occurred,  but  the  interest  still  freshens  when, 
gathering  round  the  yale  log,  some  childish  voice  asks  to  hear 
once  more  its  grandmothers  and  mother's  story  of  how  they 
were  "Lost  in  the  Snow." 


PLOUGHING  WITH  OXEN  IN  GLAMORGAN. 


I  have  oft^n  wondered  that  the  committee  of  some  influential 
Eistedfodd,  during  the  last  twenty  years,  have  not  deemed  fit  to 
offer  a  substantial  prize  for  the  best  collection  of  "  Old  Gla- 
morganshire TribanauJ"  Twenty  years  hence,  the  knowledge 
of  the  old  ox  songs  and  the  Tribanau  that  were  sung  to  them, 
will  have  nearly  perished,  and  a  chapter  in  the  rural  history  and 
industrial  economy  of  our  county  will  be  deprived  of  its  special 
ornament.  I  have  endeavoured,  during  the  last  eight  or  ten 
years,  to  collect  as  many  as  I  could  of  the  old  TribanaUy  as  well 
as  the  songs  that  were  sung  over  the  broad  fields  of  Glamorgan 
in  years  gone  by,  for  they  have  to  my  mind  the  real  merit  of 
presenting  to  our  notice  an  unsophisticated  picture  of  pastoral 
life  in  this  our  dear  old  county,  long  before  the  advent  of  the 
modem  style  of  farming. 

In  the  Itinerainf  of  Giraldus  Cambrensis  through  Wales,  as 
early  as  1150,  he  makes  mention  of  certain  remarkable 
phenomena,  which  take  place  at  the  annual  feast  of  St.Almedha 
(one  of  the  daughters  of  Brychain  Brycheiniog)  in  the  month  of 
August,  at  her  church,  near  Brecon.  "  The  crowd  of  votaries 
there  assembled  dance  in  the  church  and  round  the  church- 
yard, when  some  of  them  will  suddenly  fall  on  the  ground  in  a 
trance.  Those  who  are  sufiering  from  any  disease  will  in  the 
end  be  cured  by  this  visitation ;  but  those  who  have  done  any 
wickedness  during  the  past  yeai* — of  which  the  worst  would  be 
the  working  upon  a  feast  day  of  the  Church — would  jump,  as 
in  a  firenzy,  and  represent  before  all  the  2>^ople  with  their  hands 
and  feet  whatever  work  they  had  unlawfully  done  on  feast  days. 
You  may  see  one  man  put  his  hand  to  the  plough,  and  another 
as  it  were  guiding  the  oxen,  mitigating  their  sense  of  labour  by 
the  usual  rude  song,"  &c. 

Sir  Bichard  Colt  Hoare,  commenting  on  this  statement  in  the 
year  1806,  says — ''  The  same  habit  is  still  used  by  the  Welsh 
plough-boys.  They  have  a  sort  of  chant,  consisting  of  half,  or  even 
quarter  notes,  wliich  is  sung  to  the  oxen  at  the  plough,  the 
countrymen  vulgarly  8upj)osing  that  the  beasts  are  consoled  to 
work  more  regularly  and  patiently  by  such  lullaby,"  Oxen  are 
still,  I  am  toM,  joked  to  the  plough,  in  Wiltshire,  and  were  as 


PLOUGHING  WITH  OXEN  INGLAMOKGAX.     137 

commonly  used  in  England  as  in  Wales,  in  the  time  of  Sir 
Richard,  but  the  English  ox  drivers  never  sang  to  their  cattle. 

In  Glamorganshire  it  has  been  a  custom  of  which  we  need 
not  be  ashamed.  The  old  Ti'ibanau  are  ([uite  redolent  of  the 
soil  from  which  they  sprang,  and  have  in  tliem  (whatever  the 
I)astorals  of  England  of  the  last  two  centuries  might  show) 
the  very  essence  of  the  life  and  manners  of  the  period  to  which 
they  belonged.  A  gentleman,  who  well  remembered  tbe  old 
custom,  expressed  himself  lately  in  the  following  manner. — "  I 
cannot  but  feel  real  regret  when  I  recall  to  mind  the  time  when 
the  rural  life  of  our  county  was  vocal ;  when  there  seemed  to  be 
ever  soaring  upwards  from  day  to  day,  and  from  year  to  year,  a 
kind  of  musical  incense  from  our  fields ;  or  it  might  be  taken 
as  a  proclamation  of  season  succeeding  season,  and  the 
continuance  of  seed-time  and  harvest. 

As  a  small  contribution  towards  the  preservation  of  what  I 
consider  to  be  so  curious  and  beautiful,  as  well  as  characteristic, 
a  custom  of  "  Old  Glamorganshire,"  I  venture  to  place  before 
your  readers  the  following  remarks  as  to — 

THE  ox,   AND   ITS  TREATMENT   IN  OLAMORCiAN. 

For  many  hundreds  of  years  it  was  part  of  the  rural  economy 
of  England  and  Wales  that  ploughing  should  be  done  by  oxen. 
Many  traditionary  maxims  accumulated  in  all  tliose  ages,  and 
were  handed  down  to  each  successive  generation  of  husbandmen. 
This  traditional  lore  contained  rules  as  to  the  management  of 
the  ox :  how  the  animal  should  be  treated ;  when  first  put  under 
the  yoke ;  how  fed  and  managed  while  working ;  its  likes  and 
dislikes,  and  how  they  should  be  humoured ;  and  many  other 
matters  relating  to  the  same  subject.  The  gentle  disposition 
and  wiUing  obedience  of  the  animal  caused  him  to  be  looked 
upon  with  fondness.  Sui>erstition  credited  him  with  a  kind  of 
occult  intelligence,  something  like  that  which  is  attributed  to 
bees*  It  was  thought  that  the  experience  of  olden  times 
dictated  that  regard  should  be  paid  to  the  sympathy  existing 
between  the  ox  and  its  owner.  In  the  i>opular  mind,  his 
association  with  the  manger  of  Bethlehem  gained  for  the  ox — 
at  least  at  one  season  of  the  year — a  kind  of  reverence.  At 
midnight  on  Christmas-eve  it  was  supposed  that  he  fell  on  his 
knees  to  adore  the  infant  Saviour. 

When  wassailing  was  a  customary  part  of  the  Epiphany 
festivities — as  in  certain  |)arts  of  Herefordshire  and  Shropshire,. 
up  to  a  very  recent  date — they  never  failed  to  offer  the  wassail 
bowl  to  the  best  ox,  or  favourite.  In  his  stall  was  carefully 
secreted  a  sprig  of  mountain  ash,  as  a  charm  against  witchcraft. 
If  aa  oz  was  refractory,  it  was  believed  some  evil  was  at  hand  ; 
and  if  one  happened  to  fall  down  in  the  yoke,  it  denoted  dealVv. 
On  Christmas-efe  there  was  a  large  cake  made  by  tVie  txv\&Vi^%^ 


138    PLOUGHING  WITH  OXEN  IN  GLAMORGAN. 

x>{  the  family,  and  a  wassailing  bowl  of  eider  and  spices,  prepared 
by  the  master.  These  were  decorated,  and  borne  in  triumph  to 
the  stall  of  the  leading  ox.  The  ceremony  was  attended  by  all 
the  household,  the  males  arranged  on  one  side,  the  females  on 
the  other.  The  mistress  placed  her  cake  on  the  horns  of  the 
ox ;  the  master  stirred  the  bowl,  and  drank  off  a  flagon  with 
this  toast : — 

"  I  drink  to  the  ox,  from  his  hoof  to  his  horn  ! 
I  drink  to  the  ox  that  treads  out  the  com  ! 
We'll  drink  deep  of  the  flagon  whilst  we  are  here, 
And  God  send  ns  all  good  luck  through  the  year.'* 

Then  the  cup  went  round,  and  if,  in  the  meantime,  the  ox 
shewed  his  cud  placidly,  it  denoted  good ;  but  if  he  bowed  and 
looked  Wildly,  it  was  a  sign  of  ill.  If  the  cake  should  fall  from 
the  horns  on  the  side  of  the  females,  they  carried  it  ofiF  with 
with  great  rejoicing,  as  an  omen  of  their  sovereign  rule 
throughout  the  year.  At  other  times,  important  events  in  the 
family  of  his  owner  had,  as  they  occurred,  to  be  communicated 
to  the  animal.  In  case  of  a  death,  it  was  thought  necessary  to 
give  him  a  trifle  of  mourning  to  wear  upon  his  horn. 

I  would  not  like  to  assert  that  positively  the  ancient  Britons 
adored  their  oxen  and  their  milk  cows,  but  they  had  observances 
which  came  suspiciously  near  acts  of  worship.  There  are  plenty 
of  places  in  Wales  called  after  the  names  of  such  animals,  and, 
connected  with  this  branch  of  my  subject,  I  will  translate 
two  old  Welsh  proverbs,  to  prove  that  our  ancient  forefathers 
believed  they  were  assisted  to  glory  by  their  cows :  "  He  who 
owns  a  milch  cow,  let  him  take  hold  of  her  tail,"  says  the 
first  of  them.  The  other  is :  "  Every  one  by  the  tail  of  his 
milch  cow."  Undoubtedly  these  sayings  alluded  to  a  custom 
our  ancestors  had  when  some  one  was  about  dying.  They 
would  bring  a  cow  to  the  sick  person,  and  he  was  to  take 
hold  of  her  tail,  and  while  in  the  act  of  doing  so  he  would 
repeat  some  formula  which  they  supposed  would  save  his  soul. 

It  is  a  most  remarkable  idiosyncrasy  of  the  ox  that  he  will 
not  work  heartily  unless  he  is  continually  sung  to.  The  practice 
of  ox  drivers  the  world  over  is  in  remarkable  unison  in  this 
respect.  Lady  Duff  Gordon  heard  the  Egyptian  boy  ox-driver, 
sing  to  his  beasts  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  and  noted  down  his 
song.  In  her  Letters  from  Egypt  she  says : — "  As  I  rode 
through  the  green  fields  along  the  dyke,  a  little  boy  sang  to 
the  ox  which  turned  round  the  musically  creaking  Sakizeh  (i.e.  a 
water  wheel),  the  one  eternal  Sakizeh  tune.  The  words  are  ad 
libiturriy  and  my  little  friend  chanted  : — 

Turn  O  Sakizeh  to  the  right,  and  turn  to  the  left, 

"Who  will  take  care  of  me  if  my  father  dies  ? 

Turn  O  Sakizeh,  kc, 

Pour  water  on  the  pigs,  and  the  grapes,  and  the  water  melons. 

li^otbing  is  so  pathetic  as  that  Sakizeh  song." 


PLOUGHING  WITH  OXEX  IN  GLAMORGAN.     139 

Whatever  the  rural  poetry  of  England  may  be  able  to  show 
under  this  head,  in  Wales,  and  particularly  in  Glamorganshire, 
there  are  perhaps  thousands  of  Tribanau  (triplets)  which  rural 
bards  had  provided  for  the  use  of  the  boy  ox-driver ;  an  essential 
jjart  of  whose  education  was  that  his  memory  should  be  charged 
with  a  sufficient  supply  of  such  triplets  for  his  day's  work. 
Some  of  the  Trihanau  are  very  old  ;  some,  perhaps,  as  late  in 
tlate  as  the  year  in  which  oxen  were  last  seen  yoked  to  the 
plough,  and  moving  across  the  broad  fields  of  the  vales  of 
Glamorganshire.  When  the  last  yoke  was  unfastened  cannot 
be  determined  to  a  year,  but  it  would  not  be  much  later  than 
1845.  The  custom  had  been  slowly  dying  out  ever  since  1830. 
And  now,  in  1883,  the  traditions,  songs,  and  all  the  memories  of 
the  centuries  which  terminated  fifty-two  years  ago,  are  nowhere 
to  be  found  but  in  the  perishable  keeping  of  the  few  gray 
headed  men  who  were  the  plough  swains  of  the  palmy  days  of 
ox  driving. 

Although  the  ox  likes  being  sung  to  at  his  labour,  to  keep 
him  from  chafing  under  the  indignity  of  the  yoke,  yet  it  was  not 
every,  or  any  kind  of  song  pleased  him.  There  was  a  set 
measure,  and  a  time  to  the  driver's  song  which  it  was  known 
his  animal  loved.  The  strains  were  gentle  and  soothing,  with  a 
prolonged  note  or  two  in  each  cadence;  but  the  words  also,  it 
was  thought,  must  be  such  as  pleased  his  intelligence.  The 
animal  had  a  sense  of  humour  which  must  be  gratified  by 
Home  playful  nonsense.  He  was  wise  also;  therefore,  words 
of  sound  sense  must  now  and  then  be  chanted  to  him.  He 
had  lively  sympathies  with  tlie  weal  and  woes  of  those  who 
owned  and  tended  him ;  his  driver  could  therefore  confide  to 
him  the  story  of  his  love  affairs,  or  his  varied  experience  in  long 
service.  Finally  the  ox  had  a  modest,  though  decided  sense  of 
his  own  importance ;  the  strength  and  beauty  of  the  yoke  might 
thus  fittingly  be  sung,  and  this,  in  the  full  license  of  poetry, 
was  done  in  terms  of  hyperbolical  praise.  Altogether  these 
8ong3  formed  quite  a  feature  in  the  happy  doings  of  rural  life. 
Who  shall  say  how  many  thousands  of  young  hearts  have 
been  nurtured  into  contentment  with  a  life  of  toil,  by  the 
trolling  of  these  songs ;  or  drunk  happiness  from  them  with 
the  sunshine  of  each  |)assing  day  ?  In  latter  life,  may  not  the 
recollection  of  them  have  built  up  the  good  citizen  by  the  three- 
fold cord  with  which  they  bound  him  to  the  hearth  he  had 
established  for  himself  in  his  native  village,  and  by  the  warmth 
they  infused  into  his  innate  feelings  of  loyalty  and 
jiatriotism? 

The  boy  ox-driver  has  become  a  being  of  the  ])ast,  and  there 
is  no  one  now  whose  duty  it  is  to  commit  these  songs  to 
memoiy.  They  are  year  by  year  diminishing,  but  let  t\\.eixv 
aot  be   wbolljr  forgotten.     Those   that  remain^  pooi  t\io\i^ 


140    PLOUGHING  WITH  OXEN  IN  GLAMOBGAN. 


they  may  be  in  the  eyes  of  the  critic,  are  yet  dear  to  us  all, 
as  the  last  drop  of  the  exhausted  spring  of  poetry,  that  once 
flowed  side  by  side  with  the  life  of  the  people. 

THE   GLAMORGAN  PLOUGH   BOY'S  SONG. 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  old  air  sung  in  years  gone 
by,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Margamand  Llanffynwvd,  together 
with  a  few  of  the  old  Tribanau.  ©^      j   »     5 


{feo(g- 


Vff—  •  Brnt  y      P«»4-y         Shyw    Go]U4  Uwr  •-!%«• 


S«f 


CottiV  \y  o«dd  uwck  ei    btii«  pkarto  brtA  ei        ^•]y 


Mae  merched  bach  y  Blaena. 
Yn  gwisgo  ffring  a  lasa ; 
Modrwy  aur  ar  ben  pob  byf*, 
A  chwt  eu  crysau  *n  llapra. 

Mae  merched  bro  Morganwg, 
A'r  cyfau  yn  y  golwg; 
Yn  tynu  llawer  llencyn  mwyn, 
Dro8  d-w-yn  i  dori  'i  wddwg. 

Mae  merched  pert  Gwladforgan 
Yn  gwisgo  g>'nau  sidan  ; 
Mae  rhai  n  mor  feined  yn  eu  gwast, 
A  chynffon  gast  Sion  Bivan. 

LlangynwycL 


Tri  pheth  ni  char  un  Cristion, 
Yw  dadwrdd  haid  o  fed  d won  ; 
Gwel'd  offeiriad  maes  o'i  go', 
A  byw  lie  bo  cybyddion. 

Tri  dawnsiwr  gora  'n  Nghymry, 
Syr  Charles  o  Gefn  Mably; 
8cweier  Lewys  wych  o'r  Lan, 
A  Syr  John  Cam  o'  'Weni. 

O  rhyfedd  faint  y  dwli, 
I'r  byd  sy  'n  cael  ei  gorddi ; 
Ar  Sul,  i'r  Siol  yn  enw  llaeth, 
Mae  'n  meddwi  'n  waeth  na  bmndi. 

T.  C.  Evans. 


WELSH  POETRY  IX  ENGLISH  DKESS. 


THE    BARD'S    APPEAL. 

By  the  Rev.  Thomas  Jones  ("Tegid"). 

Dedicated  to  Mrs.  Nash,  Neath^  a  Relative  of  the  Bard, 


Oh,  fair  and  gentle  Ellen,  hear 
The  bard  repeat  how  fondly  dear 
Thou  art  to  him.     He  asks  of  thee, 
Ellen,  love,  dost  thou  love  me  ? 

I  know  of  many  love-sick  swains, 
Whose  bosoms  ache  with  lovers'  pains ; 
One  of  the  many  asks  of  thee, 
Ellen,  love,  dost  thou  love  me  ? 

A  thousand  sighs  thou'lt  hear,  and  more. 
From  breasts  whose  burden  waxeth  sore. 
And  many  an  one  will  thoughtlessly 
Ask  thee,  "  Ellen,  lov'st  thou  me  ?" 

Oh,  soothe  my  pain,  sweet  Ellen,  pray, 
My  passion  brooks  no  more  delay, 
My  pain  is  great,  but  thou  can'st  heal ; 
Say,  dost  thou  love  or  pity  feel  ? 

Thou  can'st  not,  Ellen,  though  thou  art 
Excelling  both- in  mind  and  heart. 
Love  but  one,  I  pleadingly 
Ask,  Oh,  let  this  one  be  me  ? 


ELLEN'S    ANSWER. 

Hush,  gentle  bard,  no  more  I'll  hear, 
Thy  words  my  bosom  fill  with  fear ; 
My  heart's  affections  are  not  steel 
To  wound  the  love  I'd  rather  heal. 


142  ^TILSH  POETRY  IN  ENGLISH  DRESS. 

Though  I,  with  pain,  have  heard  of  things 

Most  cruel,  such  as  falsehood's  stings, 

Have  also  seen  the  deepest  guile 

Lurk  'neath  a  sweet  and  tender  smile  ; 

The  wolf  I've  known,  in  lamb's  soft  skin. 

So  fair  without,  so  foul  within ; 

'Tis  pleasant  pastime  for  a  bard 

To  pour  in  verse  his  fond  regard. 

And  win  the  love  he  does  not  feel. 

But  then  to  turn  upon  his  heel, 

And  lea^e  the  maid,  alas  I  too  late. 

To  mourn  her  sad,  forsaken  state. 

Then  hush  thee,  bard,  and  quickly,  too, 

Or  I,  perchance,  shall  also  rue. 

But  if,  in  truth,  thou  lovest  me. 

My  promise  I  will  give  to  thee ; 

My  heart  and  liand  in  troth  I'll  plight 

For  life,  when  Death  shall  disunite 

The  golden  links  of  purest  love. 

May  they  united  be  above. 

Neath.  Rhianon. 


HOW  CHOLERA  SPREAD  IX  WALES. 


We  are  indebted  to  Dr.  Dyke,  of  Merthyr,  a  specialist  in  the 
hitudy  of  epidemics  for  the  following  startling  facts  in  connection 
with  the  great  cholera  of  1849,  which  swept  away  no  less  than 
1,732  lives.  It  was  imported  into  Merthyr  from  Hamburg,  its 
steps  being  traced  as  follows : — First  stage  :  A  sailor  came  to 
Bristol  from  Hamburg,  and  took  lodgings  at  the  Welsh  Back. 
He  had  the  choleraic  poison  in  his  system  throughout  the  voyage, 
and  was  suflFering  from  diarrhcea  when  he  arrived  at  Bristol. 
He  at  length  died  of  pronounced  cholera.  Second  stage :  A 
sailor  lodging  with  the  Hamburg  man  at  Bristol  voyaged  to 
Llanelly,  Carmarthenshire,  and  in  Llanelly  died  of  cholera.. 
Third  stage :  A  tramp,  who  had  lived  in  the  same  house  at 
Llanelly,  journeyed  to  Hirwain,  and  there  died  of  the  cholera. 
Fourth  stage :  From  the  house  at  Hirwain  the  plague  was 
brought  to  the  Ked  House,  River  Side,  Merthyr,  by  another 
tramp,  who  also  died,  and  from  this  source  the  fearful  epidemic 
spread,  resulting,  as  we  have  stated,  in  the  death  of  1,732  people.. 

The  late  Dr.  Edward  Davies,of  Merthyr,  was  able  to  trace  with 
the  same  unerring  certainty  the  course  of  the  previous  cholera 
of  1832.  This  was  in  the  first  instance  brought  to  Welsh  shores^ 
at  Swansea,  thence  to  Pontstorehouse,  Merthyr,  and  every  case 
was  traceable  to  this  one. 


WELSH   ORIGIN   OF   LATIN   PLACE-NAMES. 


ARTICLE     II. 

The  next  British  name  demanded  for  the  Latin,  by  the 
author  of  this  learned  work  {Matricvlatioii  Papers)^  is  Lincoln^ 
which  is  alleged  to  have  for  its  origin  the  ambiguous 
term  Colonia.  There  is  no  doubt  that  there  was  here 
established  a  Eoman  colony;  and  this  fact  has  induced 
writers  unacquainted  with  the  Celtic  language,  from  the 
similarity  they  thought  they  heard  between  the  sound,  coin 
and  coloniay  to  jump  to  the  conclusion  that  the  modem  name, 
Lincoln,  is  from  colonia.  Some  have  made  a  similar  mistake, 
as  it  shall  be  hereafter  noticed,  touching  Colchester^  which  name 
they  have  thought  to  be  composed  of  the  two  Latin  words, 
colonia  and  castra.  However,  the  name  Lincoln  is  from 
the  two  Celtic  words,  llin  (now  llyn)  and  cokm.  Llin^ 
anciently,  meant  a  lake,  a  jxk)!,  a  frith,  an  estuary,  and  some- 
times the  sea  itself,  and  colun — the  name  of  a  great  many 
rivers  in  this  island — now  called  coln^  colnCy  cotriey^  dun, 
colwyn^  &c.  The  Celtic  root,  11%  which  is  in  the  first  syllable  of 
iin-coln,  enters  into  the  composition  of  numerous  names  of 
places  near  an  estuary  or  the  mouth  of  a  tidal  river.  iZt, 
simply  means  a  flux,  flood,  stream,  tide ;  Lli-^n,  the  aggregate 
of  Wi,  a  lake  of  streams,  tidal  floods.  Hence,  we  have  it  in 
Caer-ifion  (Caer-leon),  where  the  river  Usk  was  anciently  much 
broader,  and  its  tides  much  larger  than  at  present ;  in 
CaerMi-on  Vavrr^  Chester,  and  in  Llyn  LlioUy  a  small  lake  near 
Chepstow,  that  ebbs  and  flows  with  the  tide.  The  Celtic  word, 
Zm,  now  line^  lyn,  lynUy  and  llyn  (a  lake),  gives  names  to 
several  rivers,  towns,  and  parishes,  where  there  is  an  estuary  or 
any  expanse  of  water,  as  Lynn-Regis^  an  ancient  British  sea- 
port town  in  Norfolk,  the  name  of  which  Camden  very  justly 
derives  from  the  expanse  of  water  near  it,  the  Ouse,  called  Wise 
or  Wysg,  being  here  of  considerable  breadth,  and  dividing  itself 
into  four  rivulets,  on  which  the  town  is  situated.  Then,  we 
have  the  river  Lynn  in  Devonshire,  Line  in  Northumberland, 
Llyn-Tegid  in  North  Wales,  through  which  the  river  Dee  runs, 
Llyn-gorsj  in  Breconshire,  and  many  other  such  names  all  over 
tJie  island,  but  more  particularly  near  tidal  rivers  and  in  flat 


WELSH  ORIGIN  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES.       145 

countries.  Now,  Lincoln  stands  on  the  side  of  a  hillock,  at  the 
lx>ttom  of  wliich,  in  three  small  channels,  runs  a  river,  now 
ciiUed  IVltham^  but  anciently  called  Colun — a  name  for  many 
other  rivers  in  Britain.  Reaching  to  Lincoln,  in  very  ancient 
times,  from  the  German  ocean,  there  was  a  large  estuary, 
while  the  fens  were  all  washed  by  the  tide  and  consisted  of 
l>ogs.  Camden,  remarking  that  it  was  said  the  river  Witham 
was  before  time  called  im-dis,  tells  us  that  he  had  been 
informed  by  the  citizens  that  it  was  wider  formerly  at  Swan- 
pool,  below  the  city,  than  it  was  in  his  time ;  although  it  was 
then  very  broad.  Leland  says  that  he  had  been  told  that  the 
lower  ])art  of  the  city  of  Lincoln  was,  in  more  early  times, 
all  marsh,  but  afterwards  won  from  the  waters,  "  by  policy." 
The  thousands  of  acres  of  land  that  have  been  re-claimed  from 
the  sea  have  done  much  towards  confusing  the  names  and 
l>ositions  of  ancient  places  in  this  part  of  the  country.  Of 
yore,  Holland  and  all  the  fens  in  this  part  were  inundated  by 
the  sea,  i^)articularly  during  tidal  hours.  Boston,  Spalding, 
Holbeach,  (formerly  called  Old -beach  and  Old-beche,  from 
becoming  a  beach  of  the  gradually  receding  sea),  and  many 
other  places  on  this  coast  had  no  existence  a  thousand  years 
ago.  Boston  originated  in  the  foundation  of  a  monastery, 
about  A.D.  650,  then  quite  on  the  sea  shore,  and  was  often 
inundated  with  water,  and,  in  870,  destroyed  by  the  Danes. 
On  the  oldest  maps  extant,  it  does  not  appear,  any  more  than 
many  other  im]X)rtant  places  now  in  this  locality ;  and  Lincoln, 
together  with  other  towns  that  are  marked  out,  appear  much 
nearer  the  ocean  than  they  now  really  are.  The  river  Witham 
in  remote  times  had  no  existence  by  that  name,  but  there  was 
a  tidal  river  of  the  name  Colun^  running  in  the  same  course 
into  the  ocean ;  and  it  was  this  which  gave  its  name  to  Lincoln, 
opposite  which  it  was  very  broad,  forming  an  estuary,  and  much 
nearer  the  sea  than  the  present  estuary  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Witham.  When  the  sea  began  gradually  to  recede,  and  the 
tides  to  decrease,  the  bed  of  the  river  became  smaller  and 
smaller,  so  that  occasionally  extraordinary  high  tides  or 
floods  inundated  thousands  of  acres  of  marsh  land  that 
had  by  degrees,  during  centuries,  been  regained  from  the 
sea,  just  as  the  marshes  have  been  regained  from  the 
Bristol  channel,  nearly  from  Gloucester  to  Cardiff.  In 
comparatively  modem  times,  a  great  many  attempts 
have  been  made  to  widen  the  channel  of  the  river,  by 
deepening  its  bed,  and  hemming  in  or  baying  its  banks  with 
earUi  and  other  materials;  some  of  which  have  been  made 
under  the  power  of  Acts  of  Parliament ;  but  with  various 
racceaseB,  the  sea  breaking  in  afresh,  now  and  then,  and 
eanying  away  all  the  embankments.  An  artificial  nayigatioii^i^v^ 
cnt  bam  Boston  to  Lincoln,  in  this  river,  and  thence  aiti€rR«(xdL% 

K 


146      WELSH  ORIGIN  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES. 

a  canal  was  made  connecting  the  Witham  with  the  Trent. 
It  is,  however,  affirmed  by  tradition,  that  in  very  ancient  times, 
the  three  channels  into  which  the  river  is  now  at  Lincoln 
divided,  were  one  lake  (lin\  that  along  the  waters 
great  vessels  sailed  from  Boston  to  Lincoln.  (See  Encydopcedia. 
Britannica).  But  it  appears  that  the  name  Wifhanij 
instead  of  Colun  was  given  to  the  river  after  its  channel 
had  been  re-opened  and  large  embankments  made  on  each  side 
of  it,  to  preserve  the  land.  In  order  to  secure  these 
embankments  from  being  carried  away  by  tides  and  floods, 
they  were,  for  many  miles,  planted  with  withies^  or 
water  willows,  just  as  both  sides  of  roads  in  this  marshy  country 
were  formerly  used  to  be  planted  with  withies,  while  the  roads 
themselves  were  raised  much  higher  than  the  land  on  each 
side.  The  river,  on  each  bank,  for  nearly  thirty  miles,  abounding 
with  withies,  became  to  be  called  the  Withem  or  Witham,  from 
the  Anglo-Saxon — Withies  a  withy  or  willow,  and  hem  or  em,  a 
fence  or  fortification.  But  this  derivation  should  be  distin- 
guished from  that  of  Witham,  meaning  a  house  or  homestead, 
which  is  from  the  Anglo-Saxon,  hwit  (white),  and  ham  (a 
home,  a  house),  simply  meaning  White-house  —the  name  of 
many  places  in  England,  such  as  Witham  in  Essex,  St.  Witham 
in  Lincolnshire,  Witham-on-the-Hill,  &c.  We  thus  perceive 
how  the  river,  which  still  winds  its  course  along  the  bottom  of 
the  hill  on  which  the  city  of  Lincoln  stands,  became  to  be  called 
Witham,  instead  of  Colun.  There  are  a  great  many  rivers,  large 
and  small,  in  this  island  which,  of  yore,  were  by  the  ancient 
Britons  called  Colun,  and  are  still  called  Coin,  Cain,  Cohie, 
01  un,  &c.,  as  already  noticed ;  and  a  considerable  number  of 
towns  and  other  places  take  their  names  from  such  rivers ;  as 
(7oiw-St.-Aldwins,  (7oiu-St.-Dennis,  and  Coin-Rogers,  in  Glou- 
cestershire ;  Colne,  in  Hants ;  Colne,  in  Lancashire ;  Galne,  in 
Wiltshire ;  Coin-brook,  in  Middlesex  ;  Clun  (a  contraction  of 
Cotun),  dividing  this  town  in  two  parts,  in  Shropshire,  where 
we  have  Clunbury,  Clunton,  CZun-gynford,  &c.  We  have  also 
in  Essex,  (7o/ne-Earls,  Coine-Engain,  Coin^- Wakes,  and  Colne- 
White — all  in  the  same  hundred  as  Colne — Chester,  or  Col- 
chester, which  is  situated  on  the  river  Colv^  or  Colun.  The 
last-named  place,  which  was  a  town  of  great  importance  before 
the  Roman  invasion,  is  called  in  the  Triads  of  the  Isle  of  Britain, 
Caer-Golun  (the  City  of  the  Colun).  The  Romans  established 
here  three  of  their  principal  legions,  and,  therefore,  called  the 
city  by  the  name  Colonia.  This  has  made  some  antiquarians, 
ignorant  of  the  Celtic  meaning  of  names,  suppose  that  the 
syllable  col  in  its  present  name,  Colchester,  is  from  the 
Latin  CoZonia,  just  as  they  have  supposed  that  colai  in  Lincoln 
J8  from  the  same  word.  From  the  itineraries  of  Ptolemy, 
AntoninuSy  Richard  of  Cirencestet  and  cAlieiiA^  it  would  seem 


WELSH  ORIGIN  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES.      147 

that  the  Romans  once  called  Colchester  by  the  name,  Cama- 
lodwnum.     But  Nennius  calls  it  Caer-coUon^  and  the  author,  or 
rather  translator,  of  fl^^i^^oWa  Britonumy  writing  in  the  12th 
century  and  citing  froni  very  ancient  sources,  calls  it   Caer- 
coluin  or  Caer-colvin.     It  was  the  Saxons,  when  it  first  came 
into  their  hands,  who  first  called  it  Colun-ceaster^  Cobie-ceastery 
or  CoU-ceaster^  whence  it  became  Colchester.     So  in  regard  to 
Lincoln,  called  by  the  Britons,  before  it  came  into  the  hands  of 
the  Romans,  Llin-colun;  the    latter    designated    it    Lindum^ 
Lindisj  Linda-coliruij  Litidocolinwinj  and  Lincolnia^  but  never 
Liiidchcolaiiia,  except  to  distinguish  the  colony  established  at 
Lincoln.     Ptolemy  and  Antoninus  call  it  Lindum ;  Bede  calls 
it  Lindecollin ;  Richard  of  Cirencester  names  it  Lindum,  and 
also  Croco-coluna.     The  Saxons  called  it  Lindo-coUyne^  Lin- 
colen^  Lin-cyleUy  Lin-col,  and  Lino-cyllanceaster;   while  the 
Normans  called  it  Nichol  and  Nicol.     In  all  these  names  of 
different  nations,  in  different  ages,  the  British  word,  colun,  in  a 
modified  form,  and  in  almost  all,  the  word  Uin  are  preserved. 
Accordingly,  the  surrounding  country  is  called  imdesia,  Zindisia, 
Linisey,  and  Linsey  by  Latin  writers.     But  the  Saxons  called 
the  country  LincoUscyre,  and  the  Normans  Nicolshire.     The 
ancient  Britons,  however,  called  the  country  Llingoed,  and  also 
Llwydgoed ;  and  some  centuries  after  the  commencement  of  the 
Roman  occupation  the  Britons  appear  to  have  been  accustomed 
to  call  the  city  of  Lincoln  itself  Caer-Uwydgoed  (the  City  of  the 
Grey    Wood).      For     the     author     of     Historia-    Britooium 
(lib.  ix.,  c.  3)   tells   us    that  in    the    time    of   King    Arthur 
the   army  of  his    nephew  and  ally,  Hoel,  King  of  Armorica, 
"marched   against   the    Pagans  who  had  besieged    the    city, 
Caer-lindcoety  which,  standing  on  a  hill    between   two  rivers 
(apparently  the  Colun  and  the  Trivonia,  or  Trent),  in  the  land 
of  Lindiaia,   is   called  by   another    name,    Lindo-colinum" 
Richard  of  Cirencester,  in  his  Ancient  State  of  Britain  (lib.  i. 
c  6),  gives  the  reason  why  the  province  was  called  Llwydgoed, 
in  the  following  passages : — "Here dwelt  the  Coitani  (woodmen 
or  foresters),  in  a  tract  of  land  covered  with  woods,  which,  like 
all  the  woods  of  Britain,  was  called  Caledonia.     .     .     Lindum, 
a  Roman  colony,  was  situated  in  the  eastern  extremity  of  the 
district.    The  river  Trivonia  (Trent)  divided  the  whole  territory 
into  two  parts."    The  province  called  Lhoydgoed,  or  Linaea, 
was  in  remote  times  part  of  one  of  the  great  forests    that 
were  then    in  this   island,   the    inhabitants   of  which    were 
called     Ceilkoye,      Oettiaidj      Otdedonii,     &c.       They    are 
often  referred  to  in  Latin  writers.     Floras   (lib.  iii.   c.   10), 
speaking  (rf  the  second  expedition  of   CsBsar,  and  referring 
to    the     eastern      extremity    of    the     Caledonian      forest, 
says: — ^''Bursas  Britannos^  Caledonias  sequutor  in  d^VvaaV^ 
and  Lnoui  writes :—^*  Unde  Caledoniis  fallit  turbata  Brilanxio^r 


148      WELSH  ORIGIN  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES. 

One  of  these  forests  lay  westward  of  the  Murray  Frith,  and 
extended  considerably  towards  the  south  of  northern  Britain, 
comprising  Penrith,  Carlisle,  Cumberland,  &c.  It  would  seem 
that  it  was  this  forest  which  gave  the  name  Caledonia  and 
Caledonians  to  this  i>art-  of  the  island  and  its  inhabitants,  for 
Richard  of  Cirencester  (lib.  ii.,  c.  6)  tells  us  that,  although  all 
parts  of  Britain  lying  beyond  the  isthmus  might  be  termed 
Caledonians,  yet  the  proper  Caledonians  dwelt  beyond  the 
Murray  Frith :—  "  Ad  occidentem  igitur  Vararis  habitant 
Caledonii  proprie  sic  dicti,  quorum  regionis  partem  tegebat 
immensa  ilia  Caledonia  sylva."  Another  forest  reached  from 
Kent  to  the  extremity  of  Somersetshire,  being  150  miles  in 
length,  and  of  great  width.  This  was  called  by  some  the 
Anderidian,  but  by  Lucan  the  Caledonian  forest.  A  third  large 
forest,  which  shall  be  the  last  named  here,  was  that  which, 
being  called  Caledonia,  comprised  the  city  of  Lincoln,  the 
province  of  Llwydcoed^  and  parts  of  the  counties  of  Notting- 
ham, Derby,  Rutland,  and  Northampton.  From  these  woods 
the  surrounding  district  of  I^incoln  became  to  be  called 
Llwydgoed,  Liut-coit,  &c. 

Thus  much  for  the  origin  of  the  name  Li)icoln^  which,  it  is 
trusted,  suffices  to  show  that  the  Latin  word  coionm  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it ;  but  that  the  name  is  composed  of  the  British 
Llin  (now  Llyn)  and  Colun.  It  may,  however,  be  remarked 
that,  notwithstanding  the  corruption  of  Celtic  names  by  the 
Romans,  Saxons,  and  Normans,  the  first-named  people,  at 
least,  have,  in  most  instances,  retained  some  rudiments  of  the 
original  words ;  as,  for  example,  in  Sabrina,  Hafren — the 
Severn ;  Deva  or  Deua^  Dxvy — the  Dee ;  Abona,  Afan — 
the  river  Avon ;  Camubia^  Cemiw — Cornwall ;  Oleinuviy 
Oloefiv — Gloucester ;  Eboraca^  Efroc — York  ;  AvaUynia^  AfaMon 
— Glastonbury;  Caractacus^  Caradaxvc — Caractacus;  Casslbe- 
laun^  Caswcdlon — Cassibelinus ;  and  in  hundreds  of  other 
names. 

The  foregoing  explanation  of  Celtic  names  has  intentionally 
been  elaborated  for  the  special  benefit  of  those  literary  men — 
by  no  means  few  in  this  country — who  are  wont  to  imagine 
that  every  ancient  name  in  this  island,  and  almost  every  English 
word,  is  derived  from  the  Latin.  It  is  singular  that  they  do  not 
think  it  likely  that  the  Romans,  while  sojourning  here,  called 
places  after  the  names  they  heard  them  called  by  the  Britons, 
whom  they  had  conquered,  just  as  is  the  case  now  in  foreign 
countries  occupied  by  colonies  of  English  people.  Even  in 
America  there  are  thousands  of  the  Red  Indian  names  of  places 
still  retained  by  Europeans.  It  is  also  not  a  little  strange  that 
these  gentlemen,  in  their  classical  researches,  do  not  perceive 
that  the  Latin  writers  have  twisted,  distorted,  and  changed  the 
proper  names  of  other  nations,  so  2a  g;ce^^\i  \a>  becloud  aud 


WELSH  ORIGIN  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES.      149 

confuse,  nay,  utterly  ruin,  ancient  history,  and  all  the  learning 
of  antiquity ;  and  that  the  Greek  writers,  from  whom  the  Romans 
derived  most  of  their  learning,  have  been  equally  faulty.  For 
instance,  they  turned  the  sun-god  Ah-Helio  (father  or  off- 
spring of  the  sun)  into  Apollo^  the  meaning  of  which  name  has 
baffled  all  modern  writers.  Then  they  tortured  one  of  his 
epithets,  El-uc  into  Liicua,  upon  which  torture  they  founded 
the  fable  that  the  god  of  light  had  been  turned  into  a  wolf. 
(Macrob.  Sat.  I.,  17.;  Pausan.  II.  X.,  et  alfreq. ;  Ovid.  Met.  L, 
233.)  Of  another  Egyptian  title,  El-ivc-cion^  they  made 
L*/caoii ;  of  El'UC-arj  Lycoru8  and  Lycoreus ;  and  of  Uc-aitj 
Hecatus.  Ouachus^  the  Greeks  turned  into  lacchos,  and 
the  Romans  into  Bacchus,  Chicscaj  a  sacred  cavern,  they 
transposed  into  Caciia,  From  Pi-Adon,  a  title  of  the  sun,  the 
Greeks  made  Paidon,  and  on  this  name  created  a  number  of 
boy-deities.  Carchedon  the  Romans  turned  into  Carthago,  and 
Peor^Apis  into  Priapus.  From  Acheron^  a  foul  canal  branching 
from  the  Nile  opposite  ^lemphis,  they  formed  the  name  Charon^ 
and  founded  on  it  a  number  of  wild  and  fabulous  tales. 
Hundreds  of  other  such  names  might  be  added.  Probably  the 
cause  that  we  find  so  many  names  altered  by  the  transposition  of 
their  component  parts,  as  chus-ca  into  ca-cu8,  is,  that  neither 
the  Greek  nor  the  I^atin  writers  were  sufficiently  acquainted 
with  the  more  eastern  mode  of  writing  from  right  to  left,  nor 
with  the  Egyptian  language,  through  which  channel  the  Greeks 
derived  most  of  their  antiquarian  knowledge,  and,  more  particu- 
larly, their  theology,  which  was  copied  from  them  and  amplified 
by  the  Romans.  Indeed,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  none 
of  them  knew  the  Egyptian  language,  especially  that  in  which 
its  theology  and  mythology  were  recorded,  not  even  Plato.  But 
the  Greek  and  Latin  authors  have  written  as  if  they  knew  all. 
The  accounts  they  have  given  of  other  nations  are  always  tinted 
with  prejudice.  Their  high  opinion  of  themselves  and  of  their 
country  perverted  their  judgment,  and  suppressed  their  regard 
for  truth ;  their  love  of  the  strange,  the  new,  the  wonderful,  has 
caused  the  greatest  portion  of  their  writings  to  be  fabulous  and 
absurd,  evincing  utter  indifference  to  facts.  Still,  we  have 
accustomed  ourselves  to  receive  with  the  greatest  confidence 
whatever  they  have  been  pleased  to  transmit  to  us. 

It  may  be  replied  that,  as  to  the  names  of  ^lersons  and  places, 
all  nations  express  foreign  terms  differently  from  the  nation  in 
whose  languages  they  are  found.  Granted ;  but  the  Greek  and 
Latin  writers  always  tried  to  make  it  appear  that  all  terms  had 
had  their  origin  in  their  languages,  and  expressed  all  foreign 
words  according  to  the  genuis,  idiom,  and  pronunciation  of 
their  respective  toncrues.  If  you  consult  these  writers,  they 
will,  for  example,  teU  you  that  GadeVj  in  Spain,  has  been  named 
from  the  Greek  pes  and  d^fn,  that  Tarsus,  in  Cilicia^  i&  ItotCL 


150      \^^LSH  ORIGIN  OF  LATIX  PLACE-NA3IES. 

the  Greek,  tarsos  (a  foot),  and  that  the  river  Nile  has  been 
named  from  the  Greek  ne-ilus.  Belie\'mg  every  foreign  term  to 
be  either  of  a  Greek  or  I^tin  origin,  they  turned  the  Sidouian 
name  of  the  city  Arthemis  (the  city  of  Thamus  or  Tammiiz) 
into  the  name  of  a  goddess,  and  then  derived  this  name  from 
the  Greek  word,  aiiem esymtegritj. 

Lest  it  be  thought  that  the  foregoing  animadversions  on 
Greek  and  Latin  writers,  whose  learning  and  elegance  have  been 
the  admiration  of  ages,  and  through  whom  we  have  derived 
most  of  our  knowledge  of  antiquity,  are  either  unjust  or 
extravagant,  a  few  translated  quotations  in  an  abridged  form 
shall  now  be  made  from  some  of  the  more  thoughtful  and 
judicious  of  them.  Strabo,  ( lib.  1 , 8, 1 5 )  says  that  his  predecessors 
in  history  and  geography  could  not  be  relied  ui)on,  that  they  dealt 
in  fictions  without  any  pretention  to  truth,  thinking  that  they 
would  be  more  likely  to  engage  attention  by  having  recourse 
to  the  strange  and  marvellous.  Philo  (Apud  Euseb.  Pnep. 
Evang.  lib.  i.  c.  9.)  complains  that  the  Grecians  had  beclouded 
learning  to  such  a  degree  that  the  truth  could  not  be  discovered, 
and  that  he  could  obtain  more  certain  information  from  people 
of  other  countries.  Clemens  of  Alexandria  (Strom,  lib.  i.  c.  2.)  says 
that  the  most  genuine  knowledge  was  to  be  derived  from  those 
whom  the  Greeks  called  barbarians.  Some  scores  of  others 
could  be  added.  Should  it  be  said  that  these  charges  are  not 
made  against  Latin  writers,  the  answer  is,  that  a  volume  of  such 
charges  made  against  them  could  be  cited;  that  they  drew  all 
their  mythology  and  ancient  history  from  the  muddy  Grecian 
stream ;  that  they  forged  whole  books,  and  were  notorious  for 
their  literary  frauds  and  fabulous  writings. 

There  are  some  other  Celtic  words  which  our  Author  unduly 
claims  for  the  Latin  ;  but  any  remarks  on  these  must  await  the 
next  and  final  notice  of  the  book  herein  examined. 

LG. 


THE  LAST  BATTLE  IX  GLAMORGAN. 


The  last  battle  between  theEoyalists  and  the  Parliamentarians 
took  place,  May  8,  1648,  at  8t.  Fagan's,  near  Cardiff,  where  King 
Charles  the  First  had  met  the  Griamorganshire  men  a  short  time 
previously  to  hear  their  grievances.  After  the  termination  of 
the  Civil  War  an  order  was  given  to  disband  the  Parliamentary 
army  in  South  Wales ;  but  Colonel  Poyer,  Colonel  Powell,  Major- 
General  Stradling  (of  St.  Donat's),  and  Major-General  Langhorne 
deserted  the  Parliament,  and  retained  a  considerable 
number  of  men  under  arms.  They  were  joined  by  the  Welsh 
Royalists,  and  the  combined  force  became  a  formidable  one. 
Cromwell  sent  an  army,  under  Colonels  Hoi-ton  and  Okey,  to 
bring  it  to  subjection,  Oliver  himself  being  at  the  time  on  his 
way  to  Glamorganshire.  The  late  Edward  Williams,  lolo 
Morganwg^  knew  an  old  woman  who  remembered  the  day  of 
the  battle.  She  was  milking  in  a  field  near  Llandaff  when 
(Cromwell's  army  came  up.  She  ran  away  at  sight  of  them,  but 
the  soldiers  called  her  back  and  asked  for  some  milk.  The 
Welsh  army  were  confident  of  success,  on  account  of  their 
strength.  The  Koyalists  first  encamped  at  St.  Nicholas,  on  the 
4th  of  May.  On  Friday,  the  *^th,  they  withdrew  to  lilancarvan 
and  Penmark  to  prepare  for  the  conflict.  The  Sunday  following 
I^nghome  marched  his  forces  to  St.  Nicholas ;  and  on  Monday 
morning  the  contending  armies  met  at  St.  Fagan's.  Horton  had 
more  than  3,000  men  under  his  command,  and  Langhorne  8,000 ; 
but  the  last-named  had  no  cavalry.  The  battle  was  a  fiu-ious 
one.  They  fought  from  hedge  to  hedge  and  field  to  field,  and 
in  a  small  ravine  through  which  runs  a  brook.  The  fight  on  the 
bridge  was  hotly  contested,  both  sides  showing  the  utmost 
bravery;  but  the  Welsh  were  at  length  totally  routed.  The 
dragoons  saved  Horton's  army  under  Okey.  After  the  battle 
there  were  sixty-five  widows  in  the  imrish  of  St.  Fagan's  alone, 
and  seven  hundred  in  Glamorganshire.  Men  were  so  scarce  the 
following  summer  that  the  hay  had  to  be  mown  and  the  com 
reaped  by  women.  Many  of  those  who  were  defeated  fled  to  the 
woodSy  where  they  were  supplied  with  food  by  their  friends, 
who  lued  the  cows'  call,  ^^  Priv  dewch,"  as  a  signal.  Per^ouv^ 
wlio  remembered  the  h&ttle  assured  lolo  Morganwg  tWl  Wi^ 


lo2  THE  LAST  BATTLE  IN  GLAJMORGAN. 

Ely  was  reddened  with  human  gore  from  St.  Fagan's  to  Penarth. 
(  Vide  lolo's  PoemSy  vol.  ii.,  p.  57.)  This  is  confirmed  in  a 
touching  love  song,  composed  and  addressed  by  William  Saunders, 
of  J^landaff,  to  a  young  woman  named  Sian  Eoberts,  whose  lover 
was  killed  in  the  battle: — 

**  Dit  !  do  /  ti  f/f4t  dy  yhryfo  arfore  teg  o  Fai^ 
Aih  traed  yn  Uifo  cyuihuiint  nea  cocld  dwry  La.V* 

The  following  account  of  the  battle  was  written  from  Bridgend, 
])y  Colonel  Horton,  to  the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons. 
Jt  is  extract (»(1  from  documents  in  the  collection  of  the  late  Sir 
Tliomas  PhiUii)ps : — 

"  Sir, — 1  shall  give  you  a  nan-ation  (according  to  my  own 
ohserAation  and  the  helj)  of  some  of  the  officers  with  me),  both 
of  the  manner  and  success  of  our  late  engagement  with  the 
♦'uemy  near  St.  Fagan's.  The  enemy  having  drawn  off  from 
St.  Nicholas  to  Llancarvan  Penmark,  Fonmon  Castle,  on  Friday, 
the  5th  of  May,  on  the  J^ird's  Day,  at  night,  they  advanced 
again  towards  St.  Nicholas ;  by  which  we  did  presently  aj^prehend 
that  they  intended  to  fight  with  us,  and  were  induced  to  such 
H  belief  the  rather  because  they  knew  two  days  before  that 
Lieut  .-General  Cromwell  was  coming  toward  us.  About  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  our  scouts  discovered  their  body  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  from  our  quai'ters,  upon  which  we  drew  out  and 
took  the  best  ground  we  could.  Major  Bethel  commanded  the 
horse  on  the  right  wing.  Major  Barton  on  the  left,  and  Colonel 
<  )key  and  his  ISIajor  and  his  dragoons  on  both  wings  with  the 
horse.  The  enemy  advanced  fast  with  a  strong  forlorn  of  foot 
and  about  six  Pickering  Horse.  Lieut.  Godfrey,  with  a  forlorn 
of  30  horse  and  20  dragoons,  charged  and  routed  them,  doing 
good  execution,  which  gave  us  the  advantage  of  a  new  ground  ; 
so  we  advanced  with  horse  and  foot  upon  them.  Captain 
<farland,  with  200  firelocks  on  foot,  and  Captain  Nicholets  (this 
liearer),  with  Colonel  Okey's  own  troop  of  dragoons,  mounted 
with  some  horse  on  the  right  wing,  disputed  the  first  encounter 
very  hotly,  where  he  showed  much  resolution,  and  beat  the  enemy 
out  of  the  two  closes  and  over  a  little  brook,  and  there  main- 
tained their  ground,  imder  command  of  the  enemy's  shot, 
until  the  forloni  of  foot,  commanded  by  Lieut.  Fann,  and 
some  horse  from  the  left  wing,  came  to  their  relief,  and  then 
they  beat  the  enemy  from  hedge  to  hedge  before  them,  and 
came  to  a  bridge,  where  the  enemy's  greatest  body  was  placed. 
The  horse  all  this  while  and  the  dragoons,  following  the  first 
success  with  much  vigour,  were  constrained  to  stand  the 
enemy  for  some  time  before  the  foot,  though  they  made  great 
haste,  could  come  up  to  them  ;  and  presently  the  first  division 
of  foot,  commanded  by  Lieut  .-Colonel  Read,  fell  close  upon  the 
enejny's  front.  Major  Wade,  with  the  second  division,  got  over 
the  little  hToo\i  on  the  flank  of  the  enemy;  Major  BartoD, 


THE  LAST  BATTLE  IN  GLAMORGAN.  153 

likowise,  with  the  left  wing  of  the  horse,  with  much  celerity 
|wisse(i  over  a  boggy  place  and  the  little  brook  to  second  the 
foot ;  .md  some  of  the  horse,  coming  on  to  charge  the  foot, 
were  gallantly  resisted  and  beaten  back  by  Captain  Hughes. 
By  this  time  the  horse  and  dragoons  on  the  right  wing  were 
gotten  over  also;  t lie  enemy's  foot  standing  very  stoutly  to  it 
until  our  horse  began  to  surround  them,  and  then  they 
presently  all  ran,  and  we  cleared  the  field,  our  horse  and 
dragoons  pursuing  them  for  eight  or  ten  miles.  The  whole 
number  of  horse  and  foot  is  confirmed  to  be  about  8,000. 
They  had  2,500  musketeers  by  their  own  confession,  besides 
bills,  pikes,  and  clubs.  We  took  up  the  day  we  fought  2,000 
firearms,  with  pikes,  Welsh  bills,  and  other  weapons  great  store, 
ten  baiTels  and  all  the  rest  of  their  ammunition  in  the  field,  and 
most  of  all  their  colours.  The  number  of  prisoners  that  were 
taken  was  3,000." 

A  list  of  the  prisoners  was  given,  among  whom  were 
members  of  the  principal  families  in  South  Wales.  A  si)ecial 
thanksgiving  was  offered  for  this  victory.  Langhome  and  Poyer 
after  this  battle  retreated  towards  Tenby  and  Pembroke,  whither 
they  were  followed  by  Cromwell  himself. 

Raraney.  Giraldus. 


EWGRAMS  AND  EPITAPHS. 


Fontenelle  avowed  he  had  been  weak  enough  to  write  a  few 
epigrams,  but  he  took  some  credit  to  himself  in  that  he  had 
resisted  the  malicious  pleasure  of  publishing  them.  This  is  a 
refinement  in  virtue  that  one  can  hardly  see  the  pith  or  ix)int 
of.  If  a  man  is  mischievous  enough  to  compose  a  stinging 
epigram,  it  seems  unnatural  that  he  should  deprive  himself  of  the 
gratification  of  placing  it  in  print.  An  epigram  that  is  not  sent 
forth  into  the  world  is  an  arrow  not  intended  to  be  shot,  and 
ahnost  approaches  to  Johnson's  definition  of  Nothing — "  a  foot- 
less stocking  without  a  leg."  We  may  judge  firom  this,  however, 
that  Fontenelle  supposed  an  epigram  to  consist  of  a  short  jwem 
embodying  a  witty  personality ;  but  this  is  not  at  all  essential. 
Un  bon  rnot  de  deux  rwies  orn4  (^sl  piece  of  wit  comprised 
in  a  rhymed  distich)"  is  Boileau's  definition  of  it.  It  does  not 
follow  at  all  that  it  shall  be  personal.  Many  epigrams  are 
directed  against  whole  classes,  and  in  that  case  they  are,  of 
course,  personal  to  no  one,  except  so  far  as  the  cap  fits  by  being 
self-imposed  ;  as  that,  for  instance,  of  Linieres  : — 

Je  roh  (CiUustres  caraU'icr:t, 

Aire  fnqiiatSf  mrosse,  et  pntff.^  ; 

Mais  Us  doivent  leiir  erjuipatfes^ 
Et  moi  fai  pat/n'  mes  soultei'tt. 

Talleyrand  has  a  great  name  as  an  epigrammatist.  When 
asked  what  was  happiness,  he  replied :  "  A  bad  heart  and  a  good 
digestion."  But,  good  as  the  mot  may  be,  it  was  not  by  any 
means  so  fresh  in  France  as  it  seems  to  us  in  England.  The 
same  form  of  words  and  kind  of  sentence  have  been  frequently 
employed  by  various  men  in  conversation,  and  something  ver}^ 
similar  to  it  had  even  got  into  print ;  for  Rivarol,  who  died  in 
1801,  had  already  written  and  printed  the  following  witty 
definition  of  a  good  kind  of  man : — "  Vespidt  TnSchant  et  U 
cceur  hotly  voila  la  Ttieilleure  esp^e  d^hovime ;  je  faia  une 
epigramnie  contre  un  sot^  et  je  doiine  un  Scic  a  un  pauvreJ' 
After  that  it  is  easy  to  see  how  a  nimble  wit  like  to  Talleyrand's 
could  dress  up  the  "  mauvais  cceur  et  bonne  digeatiaUy^  that 
on  this  side  of  the  Channel  has  had  such  vogue  ;  not  necessarily 
from  any  lack  of  wit  amongst  us,  as  Frenchmen  rejoice  to 
believe,  but  simply  because  not  one  in  five  thousand  has  read 
Eivarol. 

Voltaire  said  of  iSIontesquieu  that  he  had  sharpened  his  book 
with  epigrams.  If  so,  it  is  evident  that  Voltaire's  idea  of  an 
epigram  was  simply  a  bon  mot,  and  not  a  rhymed  distich. 

It  is  worth  noting,  perhaps,  that  the  word  Epigramme,  which 
now  is  of  the  feminine  gender,  continued  long  to  be  masculine, 
as  it  ought  to  be.     In  the  middle  of  the  Seventeenth  Century 


EPICfRAJIS  AND  EPITAPHS.  15J 

Comeille  uses  it,  and  so  does  the  author  of  a  scarcely-known  book 
on  epigrams,  entitled  Les  Joyeux  Epif/raminea  du  Hl^iur  de  la 
Rigwadiere,  Paris,  1634.  We  know  that  Caroese  was  feminine 
till  Louis  XIV.  made  it  masculine  by  accident,  and  his  subser- 
\'ient  Court  immediately  confirmed  the  Koyul  error.  Any  fool 
can  copy  faults;  but  the  divinity  that  doth  hedge  about  a  king 
[jrevents  the  imitation  of  his  virtues  by  the  beau-monde.  The 
monarchy  in  France  has  been  sjwken  of  as  a  tyranny  tempered 
by  epigrams.  I  do  not  know  that  this  phrase  is  actually  French, 
but  the  idea  is  thoroughly  so,  for  E.  Texier writes:  ^^ L'epigramrae 
a  toujotcrs  Ue  en  France  le  compUment  de  la  /o/." 

This  paper  is  not  to  run  to  great  length  ;  so  we  will  conclude 
all  we  have  to  say  about  French  Epigrams  by  a  story  told  of  the 
Abbe  de  Voisenon,  who  was  often  made  the  butt  of  epigrammatic 
wit.  One  rhymester  had  the  impertinence  to  bring  him  an 
epigram  written  on  himself,  but  without  naming  him,  and  asked 
his  opinion  of  it.  The  Abbe  calmly  took  it,  and  wrote  over  it : 
-*  Against  the  Abbe  de  Voisenon."  He  then  returned  it  to  the 
writer,  saying,  "  Take  it  now  and  circulate  it,  for  I  have  conveyed 
to  your  epigram  all  the  little  pungency  it  is  ever  likely  to 
possess."  The  man  tore  it  in  pieces,  and  stammered  out  a 
thousand  apologies. 

I-iet  us  now  turn  to  epitaphs.  The  Latin  says  de  inartuis  nil 
nisi  bonuniy  and  if,  as  the  Danes  say, "  Lies  and  I^atin  go  round 
the  world,"  there  is  no  reason  why  they  should  not  find  their 
last  seat  uix)n  the  grave.  Dr.  Johnson,  stickler  as  he  was  for  a 
stringent  veracity,  said  in  conversation  with  Boswell  that  some 
exaggeration  might  be  allowed,  for  that  "in  lapidary  inscriptions 
a  man  is  not  upon  his  oath."  Pope  talks  of  "Sepulchral  lies  on 
holy  walls,"  and  the  French  have  formularized  or  pilloried  in  a 
proverb  this  tendency  to  false  praise  by  Tnentiz  comrae  une 
^pitaphe.  But  the  statuary  runs  to  this  as  well  as  the  letter 
cutter,  for  in  Salisbury  Cathedral,  over  the  monument  of  Miss 
Trewbody,  he  has  depicted  two  cupids  "with  marble  tears  larger 
than  gray  peas "  (Southey's  Doctor^  II.,  329),  and  those  were 
the  only  tears  her  death  occasioned.  They  may  be  called  solid 
lies ;  they  pretend  to  be  falling,  and  there  they  stand  in  fixity  of 
simulated  grief  as  at  the  outset  they  showed. 

Johnson  was  a  very  good  hand  at  an  ejritaph;  everybody 
knows  his  masterpiece  on  Oliver  Goldsmith,  but  I  liave  always 
thought  that  what  he  proposed  for  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was 
capital.  lacLOCua  Nnvtonua^  iiaturce  legibua  investlgatis  hie 
quiescit  (Newton,  who  investigated  the  laws  of  nature,  lies 
here)*  The  body  of  Dr.  CUus  at  Cambridge  was  found  perfect 
when  the  chapel  was  rebuilt.  His  beard  was  long,  and  he 
resembled  the  portrait  commonly  described  as  his.  His  epitaph 
is  as  short  as  lasso's.  Osaa  Tassi^  Fui  GaviiSj  was  all.  But  few 
have  been  compressed  into  one  word,  like  that  of  the  Fellow  at 


lo6  EPIGRAMS  AND  EPITAPHS. 

St.  John's  College,  Oxford.     Prcccivit  (he  is  gone  before) — and 
that  famous  Miaerrinuia — the  very  depth  of  beauty  and  woe. 

One  of  the  curiosities  of  old  London,  in  St.  Antholin's  church, 
was  the  epitaph  on  Simon  and  Agnes  Street : — 

"  Such  as  I  am  such  shall  you  be  ; 
Grocer  of  London  somatym  was  I : 

And  the  King's more  than  years  twenty 

Simon  Street  callyd  in  my  plas, 
And  good  fellowshyp  fayii  would  tras. 
Therefor  in  Heven  everlasting  lif, 
Jesu  send  me,  and  Agnes  my  wyf. 
Kerli  merli  my  words  were  tho', 
And  Duo  gratias,  I  added  thereto, 
I  passyd  to  God  in  the  yere  of  grase, 
A  thousand  four  hundred  just  hit  was." 

What  Kerli  Met^li  means  I  can  find  no  trace  of,  but  it  was 
far  from  uncommon  to  throw  the  date  of  the  year  into  a 
rhyming  line  at  the  close. 

Pettigrew,  in  his  Epitaphs  (p.  53),  says  that  Dr.  Parr  was 
strongly  an  advocate  for  the  use  of  Latin  in  writing  epitaphs, 
although  he  wrote  some  very  good  English  ones.  He  used  to 
expatiate  learnedly  upon  the  subject ;  but  when,  at  the  instigation 
of  Reynolds  and  Boswell,  Mr.  Seward  broached  the  subject  to 
him  of  writing  a  suitable  epitaph  for  Johnson,  he  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  Sir  Joshua  in  strict  confidence,  prohibiting  all,  except 
]Mr.  Wyndham  from  knowing  it.  This  is  extant  in  Reynolds' 
Works,  and  is  a  curious  bit  of  epitaphial  literature.  He  shows 
the  highest  respect  for  Johnson's  Latin,  defending  it  against 
the  cavils  of  Monboddo  and  Wharton,  till  he  runs  into 
Johnsonese  of  the  first  font.  "What  is  simple,  may  be  generally 
imintelligible  and  unpleasing ;  and  what  is  not  simple,  will  in 
my  judgement  be  grossly  improper."  After  this  he  fidls  into  a 
quandary  that  almost  upsets  his  decided  theory  in  fiivour  of 
Latin  epitaphs;  because,  as  Johnson  was  an  English  writer, 
'*'  every  enlightened  English  reader  will  look  for  something  of 
the  taumure  of  modem  jx^pular  language."  But  how  can  this 
lapidary  style  be  combined  with  the  charming  simplicity  that 
the  old  fuzz-wig.  Pan*,  so  much  appreciated  ?  No,  if  Ijatin  be 
used  the  whole  spirit  and  phraseology  must  be  such  as  a  Latin 
writer  would  use. 

This  battle,  however,  had  been  all  fought  over  before  witli 
the  good  old  Doctor  himself  when  he  was  going  to  write  the 
e))itaph  for  his  dear  "  Goldy,"  which  is  set  up  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  and  not  where  dear  "  Goldy  "  lies,  in  that  bye-way  of 
the  Temple  leading  to  the  Master's  garden.  Burke  was  one  of 
the  circumscribers  (a  word  invented  by  him  for  the  benefit  of 
■our  new  Philological  Dictionary)  of  the  "Round  Robin.*' 
These  gentlemen  ventured  to  think  it  ought  to  be  in  English, 
but  when  Sir  Joshua  presented  it,  our  bear  and  lion  of 
(literature  replied,  he  "  could  never  consent  to  disgrace  the  walls 


EPIGKAMS  AND  EPITAPHS.  137 

of  Westminster  Abbey  with  an  English  inscription."  And  he 
went  on  growling,  "  I  wonder  that  Joe  Wharton,  a  scholai*  by 
])rofes3ion,  should  be  such  a  fool"  ;  and  "I  should  have  thought 
Edmund  Burke,  too,  would  have  had  more  sense."  The  result  was 
iin  English  translation  of  the  famous  Latin  one  by  the  same 
hand.  But  the  Latin  remains  by  far  the  better  rendering  of 
the  sturdy  old  Doctor's  feeling.  The  phrase — Qui  nulluvifere 
scribendi  genus  non  tetUjit^  nulliLVi  quod  tetigit  non  arnavit  — 
is  extremely  happy,  and  very  poorly  given  in  the  English,  as  : 
*^  Who  left  no  species  of  writing  untouched  by  his  pen,  nor 
touched  any  that  he  did  not  embellish."  This  is  a  dead  fiiilure, 
but  it  is  almost  impossible  to  render  the  I^tin  thoroughly. 
•'  Whose  pen  left  scarcely  any  kind  of  writing  unattempted^ 
none  attempted  unimproved  "  is  better  than  the  other,  but  still 
falls  short  of  the  terse  original.  It  is  a  curious  fatality  of  this 
])as8age  that  nine  times  out  of  ten  the  Latin  version  is  quoted 
wrongly,  nihil  being  substituted  for  mdlumi.  The  purists  tell 
you  that  you  cannot  touch  nothing.  But  if  you  cannot  touch 
nothing  you  cannot  do  nothing,  and  that  is  most  certainly  a 
legitimate  phrase  in  the  vernacular.  As  is  also  the  "  Kettle 
boils,"  though  the  precisians  have  almost  carried  the  day 
against  it.  You  might  as  well  say  the  ship  does  not  sail,  because 
it  is  the  captain  sails  her.  These  grammarians  forget  that 
ellipsis  is  the  life  of  language,  the  chief  instrument  by  which 
idioms  and  all  phraseologic  beauty  grows.  Take  any  French 
proverb  (or  English  for  that  matter)  :  "-4  hon  chat^  ban  rat  "; 
put  in  all  the  words  necessary  to  make  it  complete  and  strictly 
correct  in  every  way,  and  see  if  you  can  get  anybody  w  ith  a 
ha'porth  of  wit  in  his  brains  ever  to  use  it  again.  There  is  a 
correctness  that  none  but  dullards  use,  and  this  is  of  them. 
'*  The  kettle  (of  water)  boils  " ;  "  your  head  aches,"  no,  some- 
thing in  your  head  aches,  but  it  would  puzzle  the  neuralgic 
patient  to  say  precisely  what  it  is  that  aches,  and  all  the  College 
of  Physicians  too.  Language  is  not  match-boarding,  to  be 
measured  by  the  carpenter's  square  and  rule,  and  cut  to  size 
accordingly.  Tis  but  an  imperfect  means  of  conveying 
thought.  Think  yourself  lucky  if  you  can  convey  your  full  idea 
and  purpose  by  the  beggarly  engine  of  speech  ;  but  scrupulosity 
about  nothings  and  about  impracticable  exactitudes  is  the  way 
to  miss  your  mark  altogether. 

Beynolds,  in  his  correspondence  with  Dr.  Parr  about  the 
epitaph  for  Johnson,  relates  that  he  once  observed  to  Edmund 
Burke  that  ^it  would  be  no  bad  definition  of  one  sort  of 
epitaphs  to  call  them  "  grave  epigrams."  Burke  went  about 
tellixiff  the  vtory,  but  Sir  Joshua  is  very  careful  to  say  he  never 
intended  a  pun.  Some  one  should  have  said,  ^^Dear  Sir 
Joehna,  do  not  endeavour  to  deprive  yourself  oi  t\ie  \vt\X^  \<\\> 
that  M  lutppf  accident  has  cast  in  your  way.    You  \m\e  TCksAie  ^ 


158  EPIGRAMS  AND  EPITAPHS. 

mistake  and  come  out  witty ;  when  you  iuteml  wit  yon  may 
often  liucoeed  worse,  I  can  tell  you."  A  jjunwtcr  id  a  nuisance, 
perliiipH,  but  a  good  pun  ia  asocial  blessing,  and  may  be  tiie  joy 
of  an  evening,  and  shine  a  star  in  books  t<i  sparkle  again  liy 
reflection  on  the  Btreain  of  time  for  ceiituiies.  Here,  as  before, 
your  punst  is  a  iiest. 

Some  of  the  p]>itaphs  in  the  Greek  Anthology  are  charming, 
and  seem  to  spring  simply  out  of  the  natural  thought  of  cultivate<l 
men.  Here  is  one  claimed  by  nobody,  and  uik)ii  nobwly,  as  if 
written  exjiresiBly  in  defiance  of  Dr.  Johnson,  who  tliought  that 
thfi  name  must  always  ap]iear  in  (he  wonling  of  an  epitaph. 
"Do  not  you,  being  mortal,  calculate  upon  anything 
being  immortal  j  for  there  is  nothing  in  life  trustworthy  to 
beings  of  a  day.  Since  this  coffin  holds  even  Casander  dead,  a 
man  worthy  of  an  immortal  duration." 

The  same  may  said  of  that  other  one  that  Cowper,  "  My  name. 
What  is  that  to  you  ?  Mi/  country.  For  what  purpose  is  this 
[told]?  1  am  of  a  renowned  race.  What  if  of  the  meanest  ? 
After  living  with  honour,  I  deiJiirted  life.  What  if  without 
honour  ?  And  I  now  lie  here.  To  whom  art  thou  sjieabing 
thus?" — But  for  phiin,  good  sense  in  prose,  what  can  be  better 
than  that  at  Wotton,  on  John  Evelyn.  "  Living  in  an  age  of 
extraordinary  events  and  revolutions,  he  learnt  (aa  himself 
asserted)  this  truth,  which,  pursuant  to  his  intention,  is  here 
declared  :--"  That  all  is  vanity  which  is  not  honest,  and  that 
there  is  no  solid  wisdom,  but  in  real  piety." 

At  Winchester  cathedral  is  an  odd  tablet,  1541,  to  John 
Clark,  a  priest,  who  aeems  to  have  been  also  a  chemist.  The 
two   concluding   lines  run — 

"  With  earthly  rmo-nater  ho  did  delight  yo. 
But  uow  ht  duabj  in  heavi-nlj  aqua-vitte." 

There  is  a  good  jingling  thing  in  the  church  at  Wolver- 
hampton, of  the  date  1690  \.  D. 

"Ht-re  lis  tlio  boncK 
Of  JfMcph  Jones, 
Ulio  eat  whilHt  he  wu  able  ; 
Hut  onct  o'er  f«i 
He  dropt  down  dead. 
Aud  fell  beuenth  Che  table. 
When  from  the  tomb, 
To  meet  hia  doom. 
He  rUea  amidst  sinoerK  : 
Siuce  ho  muHt  drink 
In  heaven  or  hell, 
rake  hini— whtcb  give*  boat  dlnoen  1" 
Paul  Wilhelm,  who  was  a  noted  forger  of  iimeriptionB,  ilj 
the  following  to  LipsiuB.   It  receireB j|^^m    '*~  ^••"•Ik'* 
from  Spon,  the  historian  of  Genei 
let  into  the  walls  of  Geneva,  vej 
Morieris  ut  ewm  morluua 


EPIGRAMS  AND  EPITAPHS.  159 

nbi  in  rem  tiiam.  (I  lived  as  you  live,  you  shall  die  as  I  have. 
So  life  pushes  all  men.  Adieu  traveller,  and  get  about  thy 
business.)      If  it  is  forged,  it  is  excellently  forged. 

That  old  inscription  found  at  Rome  is  curious. — Animal 
ingratina  homine  nullum  est.  (No  animal  so  thankless  as 
man.  So  is  that  on  the  monument  of  Terentia,  at  Rome : — 
Qaisquis  es  homo  et  vos  sodales,  ineos  cunctoa^  Rogo  per  Deoa 
super  OS  inferos  qui  ne  vetitia  ossa  mea  violare.  (Whoever  you 
are.  Oh  man  I  and  ye  my  comrades  all,  I  pray  you  by  the  god 
above  and  below,  that  ye  desecrate  not  my  bones.) 

The  most  terrific  in  the  collection  of  Orellius  is,  perhaps,  this, 
found  at  Rome. — Quisquw  Hoc  sustuterit  aut  loeserit  Ullinius 
suorum  ^inoriatur — which  is  equivalent  to  "may  he  who 
disturbs  this  monument  out-live  all  who  love  him."  Picture 
the  old  man,  on  the  grave's  brink,  desolate,  unfriended, 
and  sighing  for  escape  into  its  cold  asylum.  The  sirocco 
sweeping  Sahara  is  as  pleasant  in  its  sultriness  as  this  in  its 
death  like  chill. 

Some  still  think  that  for  the  epitaph,  Latin  is  the  only 
language  to  be  employed;  but  that  in  that  respect  both  for 
inscriptions  and  epitaphs,  the  moderns  have  suri)assed  the 
Romans  themselves.  Aery  few  out  do  Johnson  on  (joldsmith, 
as  already  quoted,  and  what  can  be  finer  than  that  on  Wren,  in 
St.  Pauls',  or,  as  an  inscription,  than  that  by  Maupertuis,  on  the 
Prussian  hospital,  at  Berlin,  for  disabled  soldiers  ? — Loeso  sed 
hivicto  niUltiy  (to  the  wounded  veteran,  but  unconquered).  Or 
that  one  word  on  the  sepulchre,  in  the  north  aisle  of  Worcester 
Cloisters,  Miserrimus.*  It  is  quoted  in  Britton's  Cathed/ral 
Antiqu'itUs  from  Lee^s  Worcestm^shire  Miscellany,  Are  we  to 
suppose  this  to  be  the  self-chosen  epitaph  of  the  most  wicked  of 
men  (for  such  alone  are  most  wretched),  turned  contrite  with, 
in  that  respect,  a  ray  of  future  joy  and  illumination  ?  Or,  shall 
we  say  that  the  superlative  degree  stands  only  for  excessive, 
and  means  not  more  than  very  wretched  ?  Else,  who  can  lay 
claim  to  this  crown  of  misery  and  eminence  in  sadness ;  or, 
suqmssing  "  the  Man  of  sorrows  "  say,  I  am  at  the  worst  ?  So 
emulous  are  the  race  of  mortals  they  will  dispute  you  even  a 
titular  pre-eminence  in  baseness  and  abasement.  For  a  Caesar 
frost-bitten  in  glory,  not  to  be  first  is  to  be  worst.  He  that  will 
be  second  to  none,  can  find  a  preferential  distinction  in  being 
last  of  all.  Extremes  seem  to  meet  here,  aye !  and  in  some 
sort  even  in  heaven  also,  for  "  he  that  will  be  first  amongst  you 
let  him  be  the  servant  of  all." 

*  It  in  said  to  h»ire  referred  to  the  Rev.  Thomas  Morris,  who,  at  the  Revolution, 
refilling  to  take  the  oathn  to  the  new  King,  was  deprived  of  his  living,  and  had  to 
depend  thereafter  on  the  benevolence  of  his  Jacobite  friends.  He  felt  this  to  be 
so  humiliating  that  he  ordered  Miterrimui  to  be  inscribed  on  his  grave.  But 
this  is  uncertain,  and  the  sad  word  may  still  travel  on,  crowned  with  its  doubtful 
merit  of  adding  yet  a  deeper  shadow  to  the  gloom  of  the  grave  itself. 


LLYFR  COCH. 


Some  time  ago  I  promised  to  send  you  what  iuformation  I 
could  obtain   about  Llyfr  Coch,  now  in  the  library  of  Jesus 
College,  Oxford.     Llyfr  Cock  o'  Hergesty  so  called  from  Hergest 
Court,  Knighton,  Radnor,  the  seat  of  the  Vaughans,  was  [)robahly 
compiled  for  that  family,  at  what  precise  date  is  uncertain.     It 
then  passed  into  the  hands  of  Lewis  Mansel,  of  !Margam.    From 
him  it  was  obtained,  in  1634,  by  Dr.  John  Davies,  by  whot^t* 
will  it  was  left  to  Thomas  Wilkins,  of  Llanblethian,  who,  in 
1701,  presented  it  to  Jesus  College,  Oxford.     The  book  itself  is 
a  thick  folio  M8.,  bound  in  red  morocco,  containing  360  lea^  es 
of  inscribed  vellum.     On  each  page  are  two  columns,  and  there 
seems  to  be  three  different  handwiitings  in  the  book.     Its  com- 
pilation was  evidently  gradual,  and  extending  from  the  beginning 
of  the  fourteenth  to  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  centuries  ;  for  the- 
first  handwriting  has  a  chronology  tenninating  with  1331 ;  tlu^ 
second  with  1376 ;  while  in  the  last  handwriting  are  miscella- 
neous poems  by  bards  who  flourished  between  the  eleventh  and 
fifteenth  centuries.     Among  the  bards  whose  compositions  arc 
preserved  in  Llyfr  Coch  may  be  mentioned  Golyddan,  Adda 
Vras,  Llevoed-Wynebglawr,  Llywarch,  and  Tyssilio  (Bishop  of 
St.  Asaph).     A  translation  of  Llyfr  Coch  has  been  carefully 
and     correctly     made     by    Lady    Charlotte     Guest    in     her 
Mabinogion,  Some  of  the  poems  are  also  translated  in  a  volunip 
called  the  Four  Old  Books  of  Wales,    I  presume  that  the  name 
Llyfr  Coch  is  either  taken  from  the  fact  that  it  is  bound  in  red 
morocco,  or  else  from  the  colour  of  the  initial  letter  of  every 
paragraph. 

L].VFR  Coch 
Jesus  College,  Oxford. 


IN  PEMBROKESHIRE  WITH  A  SKETCH  BOOK. 

WITH  ILLUSTKATIONS  FKOM  SKETCHES  BY   THE  AUTHOR. 


The  stranger  went  on  with  his  story,  which  had  a  singular 
fascination  for  us  listeners : — 

**  After  some  little  search  on  the  morrow  I  found  Fern 
Cottage,  the  abode  of  my  new  and  strangely-found  friend,  John 
►Seymour.  There  it  stood,  at  some  distance  back  from  the  main 
road,  surrounded  by  trees — goodly  specimens  of  the  poplar  and 
elm.  Entering  at  the  gate  I  walked  up  the  narrow  gravel  path 
before  the  house  and  would  have  knocked  at  the  door,  but  a 
merry  swinging  welcome  greeted  me  from  out  the  flower-beds, 
in  which  sweet-williams  and  otlier  old-fashioned  flowers  lived 
in  a  perfect  wilderness  of  colour  and  scent.  Turning  hastily 
round  I  was  e^urprised  to  find  the  wonder-worker  of  the  previous 
night  busily  engaged  in  the  peaceful  occupation  of  flower- 
gardening. 

" '  Here  I  am,  you  see,  all  among  my  flowers  and  bees,'  were 
his  first  words  after  our  greeting.  '  You  look  just  warm  enough 
to  enjoy  a  glass  of  my  cider.  I  flatter  myself  there  isn't  the  like 
of  it  in  the  neighboiu-hood.' 

"  *  May  dear.  May,"  shouted  the  old  gentleman  to  some 
invisible  person ;  and  half  expecting  to  see  an  airy  inhabitant 
of  the  other  world  appear  in  answer  to  his  summons,  as  on  the 
preceding  evening,  I  was  surprised — ^and  agreeably  so,  you  may 
depend — to  behold  a  young  girl  rushing  down  the  path  with 
merry  shouts  of  '  Yes,  yes,  grandpa,  I  am  coming,  I  am 
coming.' 

'* '  This  gentleman  is  a  friend  of  mine,  Mr. ' 

"  *  Leslie,'  I  interposed. 

'^ '  Yes,  certainly,  Mr.  Leslie.  He  has  had  a  long  walk,  and 
is  going  to  taste  your  cider.  So  let  us  have  some  on  the  little 
table  in  the  arbour,  there's  a  good  lassie.' 

^^  And  without  further  waiting  away  she  tripped,  with  her 
merry  shouts  of  *  Yes,  grandpa ;  yes,  now  at  once,'  filling  the 
iiiummer  air. 

'^  Mr.  Seymour  himself,  after  many  ai>ologies,  had  gone  in 
search  of  some  miniature  ladders  to  which  to  tie  up  his  stocks, 
and  I  sat  in  the  little  arbour  with  my  brain  in  a  whirl  of 
wonder  and  amazement.  I  felt  totally  unable  to  answer  in  any 
satis&ctory  manner  the  questions  my  inquisitiveness  was  putting 
so  rapidly  and  unceasinely  to  me. 

**  *  What  is  to  be  the  end  of  all  this,  Frank  Leslie  ?'  was 
the  introductory  question  put  to  part  of  myself  by  the  other 
put  of  myself?  l 


162  PEMBROKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK. 

"  '  Don't  know,'  was:  the  reply. 

"  '  You  have  come  out  to  see  a  man  mighty  in  power  per- 
forming wonders,  and  have  found  an  ordinary  being  like  yourself 
out  gardening  in  the  midst  of  his  carnations  and  pansies. 
W^hat  do  you  think  you  are,  Frank  Leslie?  You've  been 
dreaming.' 

"  '  No,  I  haven't,'  was  the  philosoj)liic  answer. 
"  '  And  where  is  your  wizard's  cat  to  be  found  ?' 
"  '  Oh,  bother  the  cat ;  I  want  to  gather  my  thoughts  together 
a  little.  Let  me  see — pretty  cottage  and  garden — pleasant  old 
gentleman — real  good  cider — angel  in  guise  of  granddaughter 
— mazy  mass  of  floating  golden  hair — unsophisticated  and  child- 
like, but  certainly  eighteen — ' 

"  1  know  not  how^  loi^g  I  should  have  continued  my  com- 
munings with  myself  and  my  wondering  faculty  had  not  the  old 
gentleman  made  his  appearance  with  his  flower-ladders.  Hr 
soon  tied  up  his  stocks,  and  led  the  way  into  the  house.  *  We'll 
go  into  the  library,  I  think,'  he  said,  as  we  crossed  the  wide, 
roomy  hall,  which  appeared  to  me  unnecessarily  to  rob  tht» 
other  portion  of  the  house  of  a  great  deal  of  space.  '  We  shall 
there  be  able  to  chat  in  quiet,  without  fear  of  interrui)tion 
from  that  merry  sprite  of  a  May.' 

"  He  ushered  me  into  a  room  of  moderate  size,  the  walls  of 
which  were  Lined  with  books  resting  on  shelves  beautifully 
carved.  A  sense  of  homeliness  pervaded  the  apartment.  Quiet 
comfort  seemed  the  law  under  which  the  furniture  and  nick- 
nacks  existed.  Everything  looked  solid  and  substantial,  and 
entirely  devoid  of  show ;  the  only  article  which  appeared  con- 
spicuous, and  drew  a  stranger's  attention  especially  to  it,  was  a 
large  flowing  hanging  of  an  eastern-patterned  velvet,  which  hid 
away  from  floor  to  ceiling  about  a  fourth  of  one  side  of  the 
reom. 

"  '  I  suppose  you  are  fond  of  books,'  remarked  my  host, 
drawing  my  attention  to  his  treasures  by  a  wave  of  his 
hand. 

"  *  Yes,  I  am  an  inveterate  reader,'  I  replied. 
"  I  ran  my  eye  over  some  of  the  titles.  The  sacred  books  of 
the  East  occupied  half  one  shelf,  the  other  portion  of  which 
contained  a  medley  of  modem  novels.  Works  on  theology 
abounded,  as  also  did  scientific  treatises.  The  beautiful  antique 
binding  of  one  old  folio  drew  my  attention  to  the  contents  of 
some  shelves  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Here  I  decided  at 
once  was  the  favourite  lingering  place  of  the  mind  of  my  host. 
All  the  works  on  magic,  necromancy.  Eastern  sorcery,  and 
astrology  I  had  ever  seen  mentioned  rested  here  as  quietly  as 
if  they  slept  under  the  wings  of  an  angel. 

"  My  host  smiled  as  he  noticed  how  eagerly  I  devoured  the 
titles. 


PEMBKUKKSHIRE  SKKIVH  KOOK.  163 

■' '  1  suppOflO  you  i-oimcct  tfiese  in  some  way  with  your  last 
iiijjht's  expevience,'  he  said. 

"  '  1  most  conteHS  I  do,'  was  my  reply. 

'■  We  sat  down,  and  I  explained  to  him  the  cii-cumstanceii 
whifh  drew  me  to  witness  his  mysterious  occupation  in  the 
«-astle. 


I  li.i^e  been  thinking  that  oui  meeting  there  mu,  t  liave 
been  accidental,'  he  said.  '  ^ly  reason  for  asking  you  to  visit 
me  was,  that  I  might  slightly  explain  the  meaning  of  what  you 
then  flaw.  It  is  all  out  in  a  few  simple  words.  I  lived  for  some 
year^ — in  fact,  until  quite  recently — in  India.  Being  of  an 
inquisitivf  tnm  of  mind,  and  having  a  toleiaUe  share  of  leiaure, 
1  studied  magic  with  some  of  the  natives,  and  soon  learnt  the 
supreme  power  of  the  will.  My  gift  I  am  now  exercising  in  a 
Western  manner,  in  en<leavouring  to  extiiu-t  'from  the  dead  some 
trifling  information  which  seriously  affects  the  future  of  the 
young  girl  who  calls  me  grandpa,  hut  wlm  in  n-ality  bears  me 
no  relationshi]>.  You  will  not  seek  to  learn  more,  I  trust,  as 
further  knowledge  on  this  subject  would  avail  you  nothing. 
You  will,  1  know,'  he  continued,  'use  your  dis<Tetion  in  speak- 
ing of  this  to  any  of  your  friends.' 

"  I  assured  him  of  the  extreme  care  with  which  I  should 
guard  my  s[)eech  in  the  matter. 

**  Arising  from  his  seat  my  host  stepped  across  ths  room, 
and,  drawing  the  \'elvet  hanging  aside,  beckoned  me  to  follow 
him. 

"  What  I  had  hitherto  considered  a  blank  portion  of  the  wall 
provetl  to  be  the  entrance  to  a  little  ante-room,  lighted  by  a 
small  window  looking  westward. 

"  '  As  I  see  you  are  tolerably  inquisitive  on  occult  matters,' 
said  my  com[)anion,  '  I  will  shew  you  something.'  Unlocking  a 
little  cabinet,  he  carefully  produced  a  rounded  crystal  about  uie 
size  of  an  orange,  which  he  placed  in  my  hands. 

"  '  Look  into  it  steadily,'  he  said,  as  he  walked  towards  the 
window. 

L    2 


164  PEMBROKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK. 

"  *  It  is  a  simple  crystal  ball,  in  which  I  can  see  nothing,'  I 
replied. 

"  *  Keep  your  attention  to  it  for  a  little  while.' 

"  He  began  to  speak,  and  as  his  words  came  with  rapidity 
and  startling  emphasis  I  recognised  the  tones  of  the  stranger  of 
the  previous  evening.  I  do  not  remember  the  j)articular  words 
he  made  use  of,  but  they  went  to  fonn  a  command  addressed  to 
one  Astorath,  requesting  him  to  show  the  seeker  the  reflection 
of  his  waking  dreams, 

**  Immediately  a  flash  of  pure  light  beamed  from  the  heart  of 
the  crystal.  Watching  intently,  I  beheld  a  scene  form  itself, 
gradually  growing  out  vivid  and  distinct  from  a  surrounding  of 
haze  and  uncertainty.  The  country  parsonage  was  there,  and 
upon  the  undulating  grassy  plot  in  front  of  the  house  wandered 
arm  in  arm  my  aged  father  and  loving  mother ! 

"  I  dared  hardly  breathe,  the  scene  had  such  a  living 
reality  about  it.  Up  and  down  the  green  slope  1  walked  with 
my  aged  parents,  heai^d  their  sighs,  and  noted  their  bent  forms 
as  they  mingled  in  love  their  several  wishes  for  the  welfare  of 
their  only  boy,  God's  greatest  gift  to  them.  This  faded,  and 
out  of  the  mist  came  a  solitary  form,  and  it  was  my  whitehaired 
father,  kneeling  in  prayer.  An  open  book  was  suspended  above 
his  head,  and  his  prayers  recorded  themselves  thereon — the 
university,  a  gown — a  pulpit.  This  also  died  away,  and  I  saw 
myself  in  an  artist's  studio,  earnest  in  my  studies,  and  deter- 
mined in  my  ambitions. 

"  Another  scene — a  green  grave,  alas  !  too  well  known  in  the 
churchyard  in  which  secretly  in  my  childhood  my  nurse  had 
played  hide  and  seek  with  me  amongst  the  ruined  tombstones. 
A  wreath  of  immortelles  lay  upon  the  grave,  a  portion  of  which 
was  alive  and  beautiful  with  the  sweetest  flowers  that  Hope  can 
cause  to  bud  and  blossom.  Night  grew  on  apace  in  this  lonely 
spot  allotted  to  the  dead,  and  above  where  the  mortal  remains 
of  my  sainted  parents  rested,  two  spirits  trod  the  air.  I 
recognised  my  father  and  my  mother.  No  cloud  was  upon 
their  brows,  but  a  radiant  smile,  bom  of  a  godlike  knowledge, 
suffused  their  faces.  They  spoke,  and  the  words  came  to  my 
heart  laden  with  peace  and  joy  : — '  Now  we  know  that  our  will 
was  not  God's  will.  We  see  it  now ;  we  understand.  Let 
your  art  be  to  you  a  high  and  pure  revelation  of  God's  love. 
Farewell.' 

"  *  Thank  God  !'  I  uttered  in  an  earnest,  meaning  tone. 

"  The  sj)ell  was  broken,  the  glass  was  empty  and  visionless, 
and  my  friend's  voice  was  heard  dismissing  the  guardian  spirit 
of  the  crystal.  I  have  no  theory  to  offer  in  explanation  of 
these  or  the  other  mysteries  practised  by  this  strange  acquaint- 
ance of  mine*  I  merely  record  the  plain  facts  in  the  order 
of  their  occurrence.  I  know  some  occult  power  was  called 
into    oi)3ration,     for   the    circumstances     surrounding    these 


PEMBROKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK.  16J 

mysterious  doings  were  of  a  nature  to  preclude  the  possibility  of 
collusion." 

"  Does  the  old  gentleman  still  live  at  Keni  Cottage  ?"  I 
eagerly  enquired  at  the  end  of  the  narration. 

"  Alas  I  no,"  was  the  rej^ly.  "  He  died  about  six  months  ago, 
and  at  his  death  a  distant  relative  came  and  took  away  May  with 
him  to  some  town  in  the  north  of  England.  Beyond  this  the 
folk  about  here  profess  a  blissful  ignomnce." 

Pearly  the  next  morning  our  companion  of  the  previous  night 
was  at  our  bed-room  door,  wishing  us  adieu.  "  I  like  tramping 
it  in  the  morning,"  he  said  ;  "  the  birds  seem  to  sing  far  sweet<^r 
when  the  dew  is  on  the  grass  than  when  the  warm  sun  is  rapidly 
climbing  the  heavens." 

We  answered  kindly,  and  with  laughter,  that  we  perfectly 
agreed  with  him,  but  for  that  morning,  at  least,  we  would  hear 
the'  birds,  and  look  upon  the  dew  in  our  dreams.  We  spent 
the  day  in  little  excursions  on  the  water  and  along  the  lanes  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  castle,  and  returned  to  our  inn  in  the 
evening,  where  we  again  found  the  same  homely  cheer  and 
quiet  rest.  The  very  stillness  of  country  life  made  our  paradise ; 
everything  seemed  so  well  ordered  and  contented,  moving  along 
without  haste,  yet  with  precision  and  beauty.  Setting  out  the 
following  morning,  we  had  a  pleasant  drive  back  to  Tenby. 
Our  little  shaggy  pony  knew  well  the  direction  in  which  he 
travelled,  for  his  hoofs  clattered  right  menily  along  the  road, 
making  music  now  and  then  as  they  came  into  contact  with 
odd  stones  buried  in  the  ground,  and  worn  into  smoothness  by 
the  continued  passing  and  re-passing  of  vehicles.  A  sound  of 
sorrowful  sobbing  gieeted  us  as  we  crossed  the  threshold  of  our 
Tenby  domicile. 

"  Somebody  sick  or  in  love,  I  guess,"  was  Dick's  reply  to  my 
enquiring  look.  We,  however,  passed  on  to  our  rooms  and 
rang  for  some  refreshment.  Our  landlady  answered  the 
summons.  After  taking  a  mental  note  of  our  requirements 
she  remarked  in  a  quiet  sheepish  manner  that  she  hoped  we 
would  not  be  annoyed  by  any  little  noise  we  might  hear. 

"  I  hope  there  is  nothing  very  serious  the  matter,  Mrs. 
Jones,"  I  ventured  to  remark. 

"  Nothing,  sir,  thank  you,"  she  said,  in  a  hesitating  tone. 
Tlien,  as  if  compelled  to  communicate  her  trials  to  someone, 
she  burst  out : 

"Really,  sir,  I  liave  no  one  to  talk  to  about  my  daughter,  and 
I  am  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  her." 

I  enquired,  with  all  the  sympathy  I  could  throw  into  my  voice 
and  face  at  a  moment's  notice,  "Can  we  assist  you  in  any 
way?" 

And  this  is  how  the  story  of  her  troubles  ran :  Her  only 
daughter,    a    delicate  young   girl    of   eighteen    or   nineteen 


166  PEMBROKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK. 

summers  had  caught  the  craze  of  lestheticisni,  and  had  made  an 
idol  of  its  apostle.  She  read  incessantly  in  his  published 
volume,  and  gazed  intently  and  hom*ly  upon  his  photogi*aph, 
round  which  she  had  religiously  twined  a  wealth  of  peacock - 
feathers,  relieved  by  artistic  representations  of  lilies  and  sun- 
flowers. 

"  Well,  there  is  really  no  serious  harm  in  all  this,''  I  ventured 
to  remark,  "you  should  get  her  out  more  in  the  fresh  air. 
Nothing  drives  away  this  aL*sthetic  nonsense  like  robust 
health.  IMilkmaids  never  get  touched  by  a  craze ;''  and  my 
words  brought  to  my  memeory  that  prettiest  of  milkmaids — 
Patience. 

"  Yes,  sir,  you  may  be  right,"  sorrowfully  acquiesced  Mrs. 
Jones ;  "  but  when  they  are  striving  to  get  what  they  cull 
'  worthy  of  the  inner  circle  '  it  requires  a  good  deal  to  drive 
these  folks  from  their  follv."  • 

"  Has  Miss  Jones  advanced  so  far  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  trouble.  She  thinks  at  present  that 
hysteria  is  quite  necessary  to  her  progress  ;  and  having  no  real 
knowledge  of  this  disease,  she  is  aiming — and  pretty  successfully 
too — at  some  of  its  symptoms.  She  crushes  into  small  portions 
every  odd  bit  of  sealing-wax  she  can  procure,  and  makes  an 
occasional  meal  off  her  stock ;  and  only  yesterday,'"  and  poor 
Mrs.  Jones  simpered  at  the  recollection,  wiping  her  eyes  witli 
her  clean  white  apron,  "  only  yesterday,  I  bought  a  box  of  tin- 
tacks  with  which  to  secure  the  carpet  in  your  bed-room,  and 
this  morning  I  found  half  of  them  gone." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  your  daughter  eats  sealing-wax 
and  tin-tacks,"  I  cried,  jumping  to  my  feet. 

*'  Yes,  sir,  I  do,  and  I'll  show  you  where  she  got  her  notion 
from ;"  and  away  went  our  landlady  in  search  of  somet  hing  or 
somebody. 

"  I  hope  she  won't  produce  Miss  Jcmes  as  evidence,''  said 
Dick.     "If  I  thought  she  would,  1  should  be  off  straightway." 

To  our  intense  relief,  Miss  Jones  was  not  produced.  Our  land- 
kidy  soon  returned  with  a  rather  ponderous  volume,  which  she 
opened, pointing  out  to  us  these  words:  "  Hysterical  young  ladies 
often  exhibit  the  most  depraved  appetites  ;  ttey  will  eat  almost 
anything,  from  slate-pencil  to  egg-shells.  Few  people  like 
cinders  as  an  article  of  diet,  but  they  really  seem  to  enjoy 
them."  This  was  quite  a  unique  revelation  to  me,  so  I  took 
the  trouble  to  jot  down  the  particulars.  The  book  in  question 
was  the  Family  Physician^  published  byCassell,  Better,  Galpin 
and  Co.,  and  the  page,  369.  I  may  add  here,  parenthetically, 
that  before  we  left  the  neighboiurhood,  Mrs.  Jones  found,  to  her 
great  satisfaction,  that  the  tin-tacks  had  not  shared  the  fate 
of  the  wax-chippings,  but  had  been  appropriated  by  her 
daughter  to  quite  another  purpose. 


PEMBROKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK. 


167 


Ar.iking  use  of  one  of  a  few  letters  of  mtroductton  we  had 
taken  with  us,  we  made  a  <^all  one  afternoon,  at  the  residence  of 
a  famous  novelist,  whose  health  had  given  way  under  pressure 
of  work,  and  who  for  the  time  being,  was  a  lazy,  sea-side 
lounger.  He  invited  us  to  spend  the  evening  with  a  few  friends^ 
who  were  to  dine  with  him.  And  a  i)Ieasant  evening  it  was.' 
At  bis  table  we  made  the  aequaintance  of  a  young  East  India 
merchant,  who  was  skimminj;  the  coast  in  his  yacht,  in  com^iany 
with  his  wife  and  two  friends. 

*'  We  shall  be  starting  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "  for  St.  Davids. 
t.'ome  along  with  us." 

I  made  reply  fliat  our  time  waw  too  limited  to  admit  of  our 
going  so  far.  We  wished  to  spend  a  few  days  about  Jlilford 
Haven. 

"  Well,  you  can  come  with  lis,  and  we  will  put  you  ashore  at 
one  of  the  tin-t  villages  insi<le  the  mouth  of  the  iiarbour." 

We  thanked  him,  and  availed  ourselves  of  the  offer.  And 
right  merrily  the  little  "Sea-Bird"  danced  before  the  breeze, 
which  favoured  us  on  the  morrow.  She  was  a  trim  little  craft ; 
rather  small,  perhaps,  but  iidminbly  suited  to  her  coasting 
work.  Her  fittings  were  beautifully  complete  ;  and  the  manner 
in  which  she  spread  her  white  wings  as  we  rounded  Caldy 
Inland,  must  have  made  her  a  charming  picture,  seen  from  a 
little  distance, 


\   NAIUNE  ARCADIA, 


168  PEMBR0KE8I11KE  SKETCH  BOOK. 

But  in  desciibing  either  a  yacht,  a  stretch  of  blue  water,  or 
a  coast  scene,  one  must  necessarily  lay  himself  open  to 
undesirable  comparisons  with  Mr.  William  Black;  so  in  the 
present  instance  it  must  suffice  to  say  that  in  our  short  voyage 
all  went  "  meny  as  a  marriage-bell,"  and  we  stepped  ashore  at 
Angle  (or  Nangle  as  it  is  sometimes  called),  full  of  heartfelt 
regrets  that  our  cruise  had  so  soon  ended.  As  we  were  leaving 
the  yacht,  a  shout  and  a  waving  of  handkerchiefs  caused  us  to 
put  back  the  boat.  Dick  had  left  his  volume  of  Tennyson  on 
the  deck,  and,  with  many  renewed  farewells,  it  was  handed  down 
to  me.  It  half  opened  as  I  took  it,  displaying  considerable 
pencil-marks  on  the  odd  blank  pages  within  the  first  cover. 

"  What  notes  have  yon  here,  Dick  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Nothing  tvorth  your  reading,  I  can  assure  you,  old  fellow." 

**  That's  your  opinion,  is  it  ?  Hullo !  Poetry,"  I  cried.  "  Are 
you  often  struck  that  way  ?" 

Here  are  the  lines.  I  print  tliem,  not  so  much  for  their 
literary  excellence,  which  is  rather  doubtful ;  but  rather  that 
they  may  serve  as  a  remembrance  to  both  of  us,  of  the  pleasant 
little  voyage  on  board  the  "  8ea-Bird."  They  appear  to  be 
addressed  to  tlie  poet  laureate  : 

"  T  Ming  thy  Hongh  at  evening  by  the  seii 

To  muHic  l)om  of  inyKoul'H  fairest  dreams; 

-Vnd  in  the  panses  of  thy  message  unt<^  me 

I  lift  mine  eyes — Lo  I  puq>le  mLstH  lie  low 

On  the  far  water's  edge — 1  close  my  book 

-Vnd  silent  sit,  still  dreaming.     Memoiies 

Of  thy  leaf -hidden  home  at  Farriugford  ; 

'1  hy  fame  in  early  manho<jd  ;  how  mid  flowers 

And  books  thy  jwHit-days  glide  jieaceful  on, 

Mix  with  the  low-toned  whisperings  of  the  sea 

And  bind  with  silken  fettei-s  my  whole  soul  to  theo. 

And  on  I  dream  of  days  that  never  were. 
For  lo  !  thy  longing  cry  '  That,  sftniekotc,  f/ood 
Will  be  the  final  goal  nj  lU.  *  hath  burst 
From  bud  of  Hope  to  Being's  fairest  flower  ; 
And  all  the  world  is  holy,  all  is  new, 
And  the  world's  pilgrims  all  walk  worthily. 

O  thanks  for  thy  sweet  songs,  loved  bard, 
Tliy  songs  to  sing  beside  the  summer  sea ; 
Thy  periods  of  uplifting,  when  serene 
The  spirit  walks  with  thine  in  nobler  lands 
And  all  ideal  is  ;  the  lost  is  found  ; 
Possession  reigns  ;  the  shattered  and  the  dead 
Pnlsate  in  warm  new  Life. 

For  all  the  peace 
And  rest  thou  givest  to  world -wearied  souls 
The  worlds  sends  thanks,  and  bids  thee  still  sing  on 
In  life  ;  through  death  ;  in  all  the  far-beyond 
"Where  song  shaU  being  be,  outstretching  far 
Into  the  mystery  of  infinity, 
The  home  of  ideality ;  and  where 
No  West  shall  dose  its  gates  upon  the  dying  Sun.** 


PKMBROKKSHIRK  SKETCH  BOOK.  169 

Angle,  we  found  a  pleasant  little  "sleepy  hollow,"  a  veritable 
nook  for  a  literary  man  to  settle  down  in  for  the  few  months  in 
the  year  in  which  he  needed  extremest  (juiet  for  the  production 
of  his  best  work.  We  visited  the  church,  and  looked  with 
longing  eyes  on  ronrautic  cottages,  just  large  enough  for  Love 
to  dwell  in — there  were  no  spare  nooks  in  which  Care  could  sit 
and  shiver.  But  it  was  summer  weather,  and  our  thoughts 
were  [^summer  thoughts.  We  found,  on  (inquiry,  that  a  steam 
launch  would  touch  at  tlu^  village  in  a  couple  of  hours,  and  that, 
jwssibly,  we  might  get  by  it  to  New  Milford,  where  a  decent 
hotel,  the  proi)erty  of  the  (treat  West(»rn  Railway  Company  was 
to  be  found. 

We  had  a  rather  rough  passage  up ;  the  wind  liad  risen  and 
the  steam-boat  was  small.  The  waves  dashed  over  the  deck 
in  wild  attempts  to  reach  the  other  side  of  the  boat.  Doubtless 
a  great  discontent  on  the  part  of  the  waves  caused  us  our 
discomfort;  the  space  they  j)Ossessed  was  good  enough  in  its 
way,  but,  that  on  the  other  side  of  the  boat,  possessed  by  other 
waves  was  better ;  hence,  their  fearful  leaps  and  discourteous 
conduct  and  savage  invasions. 

However,  we  had  a  good  night's  rest,  and  awoke  in  the 
morning  to  find  the  wind  gone,  leaving  behind  it  a  fair  prospect 
of  a  pleasant  day.  We  hired  a  boat,  and  went  out  to  view 
Pembroke  dock-yard.  Passing  down  on  the  New  Milford  side 
of  the  haven,  we  dismissed  our  boatman  and  went  ashore,  where 
we  secured  a  sketch.  On  the  top  of  a  distant  hill  is  an 
intrenched  fort,  whose  guns  cover  the  approach  to  this  portion 
of  the  harbour,  and  watch  jealously  over  the  government 
property  in  the  neighbourhood.  We  here  secured  another  boat, 
in  which  we  sailed  across  to  a  neighbouring  point,  rounded  it, 
and  then  nm  up  a  creek,  until  we  came  opposite  the  ruins  of 
Pembroke  Castle.  Scrambling  ashore  as  best  as  we  could, 
over  the  slippery  stones  and  seaweed,  we  made  a  slight  ascent, 
and  having  secured  what  we  considered  a  tolerably  good  view 
of  the  ruins,  settled  down  to  our  sketch.  The  story  runs  that 
two  of  the  French  soldiers,  who,  years  ago,  startled  the 
inhabitants  of  quiefc  Fishguard,  by  their  invasion,  were,  after 
their  surrender,  confined  to  one  of  the  dungeons  in  this  castle. 
However,  somewhat  dissatisfied  with  their  board  and  lodgings, 
they  patiently  dug  with  a  piece  of  old  iron,  found  in  their  place 
of  captivity,  until  they  again  saw  the  blue  sky.  And  their 
venture  for  liberty  was  successful,  for  under  cover  of  darkness 
they  slipped  down  the  creek  in  an  open  boat,  in  which  it 
is  averred  the  passed  out  from  the  harbour,  and  across  the 
English  Channel,  landing  ultimately  on  the  shores  of  their 
native  land. 

John  Rogers  R££s. 


168  PEMBR0KE8111KE  SKETCH  BOOK. 

But  in  desciibing  either  a  yacht,  a  stretch  of  blue  water,  or 
a  coast  scene,  one  must  n(»cessarily  lay  himself  open  to 
undesirable  comparisons  with  ^Ir.  William  Black;  so  in  the 
present  instance  it  must  suffice  to  say  that  in  our  short  voyage 
all  went  "  merry  as  a  marriage-bell,"  and  we  stepped  ashore  at 
Angle  (or  Nangle  as  it  is  sometimes  called),  full  of  heartfelt 
regrets  that  our  cruise  had  so  soon  ended.  As  we  were  leaving 
the  yaclit,  a  shout  and  a  waving  of  handkerchiefs  caused  us  to 
put  back  the  lx)at.  Dick  had  left  his  volmne  of  Tennyson  on 
the  deck,  and,  with  many  renewed  farewells,  it  was  handed  down 
to  me.  It  half  opened  as  I  took  it,  displaying  considerable 
pencil-marks  on  the  cxid  blank  pages  within  the  first  cover. 

"  What  notes  have  yon  here,  Dick  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Nothing tvorth your  reading,  I  can  assure  you,  old  fellow." 

*'  That's  your  opinion,  is  it  ?  Hullo  I  Poetry,"  I  cried.  "  Are 
you  often  struck  that  way  ?" 

Here  are  the  lines.  I  print  them,  not  so  much  for  their 
literary  excellence,  which  is  rather  doubtful ;  but  rather  that 
they  may  ser\'e  as  a  remembrance  to  both  of  us,  of  the  pleasant 
little  voyage  on  board  the  "  8ea-Bird."  They  appear  to  be 
addressed  to  the  poet  Tiaureate  : 

"  T  Hiiig  thy  HongM  at  evening  by  the  seu 

To  inuHic  bom  of  mysonrH  fairest  dreams; 

Aiul  in  the  pauses  of  thy  niessaj^^e  unto  nie 

I  lift  mine  eye« — Lo  I  pnq)le  nuHts  lie  low 

On  the  far  water's  edge—  T  close  my  book 

Ami  silent  sit,  still  dreaming.     Memoiies 

Of  thy  leaf -hidden  home  at  Fariingford  ; 

'1  hy  fame  in  early  manho<xi ;  how  mid  flowers 

And  b<M)ks  thy  jjoet-days  glide  i»eaceful  on, 

Mix  with  the  low-toned  whisi)ering8  of  the  sea 

And  bind  with  silken  fettei-s  my  whole  sold  to  theo. 

And  on  I  dream  of  days  that  never  were. 
For  lo  !  thy  longing  cry  '  That,  8oiiwhou\  fjood 
Will  he  tJieJinal  yoid  oj  ,11 »  hath  burst 
From  bud  of  Hope  to  Being's  fairest  flower  ; 
And  all  the  world  is  holy,  all  is  new, 
And  the  world's  pilgrims  all  walk  worthily. 

O  thanks  for  thy  sweet  songs,  loved  bard, 
Tliy  songs  to  sing  beside  the  summer  sea ; 
Thy  periods  of  uplifting,  when  serene 
The  spirit  walks  with  thine  in  nobler  lands 
And  all  ideal  is  ;  the  lf>st  is  found  ; 
Possession  reigns  ;  the  shattered  and  the  dead 
Pulsate  in  warm  new  Life. 

For  all  the  peace 
And  rest  thou  givest  to  world -wearied  souls 
The  worlds  sends  thanks,  and  bids  thee  still  sing  on 
In  life  ;  through  death  ;  in  all  the  far-beyond 
"Where  song  shall  being  be,  outstretching  far 
Into  the  mystery  of  infinity, 
The  home  of  ideality  ;  and  where 
Xo  West  shall  dose  its  gates  upon  the  dying  Sun." 


PEMBROKESHIRE  SKETCH  BOOK.  169 

Angle,  wc  found  a  pleasant  little  "  sleepy  hollow,"  a  veritable 
nook  for  a  literary  man  to  settle  down  in  for  the  few  months  in 
the  year  in  which  he  needed  extremest  (juiet  for  the  production 
of  his  best  work.  We  visited  the  church,  and  looked  with 
longing  eyes  on  ronrantic  cottages,  just  large  enough  for  Ijove 
to  dwell  in — there  were  no  spare  nooks  in  which  Care  could  sit 
and  shiver.  But  it  was  summer  weather,  and  our  thoughts 
were 'summer  thoughts.  We  found,  on  enquiry,  that  a  steam 
launch  would  touch  at  the  village  in  a  couple  of  hours,  and  that, 
possibly,  we  might  get  by  it  to  New  Milford,  where  a  decent 
hotel,  the  property  of  the  Great  Western  Railway  Company  was 
to  be  found. 

We  had  a  rather  rough  passage  up ;  the  wind  had  risen  and 
the  steam-boat  was  small.  The  waves  dashed  over  the  deck 
in  wild  attempts  to  reach  the  other  side  of  the  boat.  Doubtless 
a  great  discontent  on  the  part  of  the  waves  caused  us  our 
discomfort;  the  space  they  possessed  was  good  enough  in  its 
way,  but,  that  on  the  other  side  of  the  boat,  possessed  by  other 
waves  was  better ;  hence,  their  fearful  leaps  and  discourteous 
conduct  and  savage  invasions. 

However,  we  had  a  good  night's  rest,  and  awoke  in  the 
morning  to  find  the  wind  gone,  leaving  behind  it  a  fair  prospect 
of  a  pleasant  day.  We  hin^d  a  boat,  and  went  out  to  view 
Pembroke  dock-yard.  Passing  down  on  the  New  Milford  side 
of  the  haven,  we  dismissed  our  boatman  and  went  ashore,  where 
we  secured  a  sket<*h.  On  the  top  of  a  distant  hill  is  an 
intrenched  fort,  whose  guns  cover  the  a]>proach  to  this  portion 
of  the  haibour,  and  watch  jealously  over  the  government 
proix^rty  in  the  neighbourhood.  We  here  secured  another  boat, 
in  which  we  sailed  across  to  a  neighbouring  point,  ixjunded  it, 
and  then  nm  up  a  creek,  until  we  came  opposit<^  the  ruins  of 
Pembroke  Castle.  Scrambling  ashore  as  best  as  we  could, 
over  the  slippery  stones  and  seaweed,  we  made  a  slight  ascent, 
and  having  secured  what  we  considered  a  tolerably  good  view 
of  the  ruins,  settled  down  to  our  sket<;h.  The  story  runs  that 
two  of  the  French  soldiers,  who,  years  ago,  startled  the 
inhabitants  of  quiefc  Fishguard,  by  their  invasion,  were,  after 
their  surrender,  confined  to  one  of  the  dungeons  in  this  castle. 
However,  somewhat  dissatisfied  with  their  board  and  lodgings, 
they  patiently  dug  with  a  piece  of  old  iron,  found  in  their  place 
of  captivity,  until  they  again  saw  the  blue  sky.  And  their 
venture  for  liberty  was  successful,  for  under  cover  of  darkness 
they  slipped  doA^n  the  creek  in  an  open  boat,  in  which  it 
is  averred  the  passed  out  from  the  harbour,  and  across  the 
English  Channel,  landing  ultimately  on  the  shores  of  their 
native  land. 

.lojiN  Rogers  R££s. 


UNIVERSITY   LIFE    AT    OXFORD. 


Xo.  III.     TJTEKARY  AXD  CONVIVIAL  CLUBS. 


Among  a  large  body  of  men  it  is  l)ut  natural  that  literary  and 
social  societies  should  spring  up.  ]Men  of  like  dispositions  and 
temperaments  bind  themselves  together  for  mutual  encourage- 
ment and  help.  Hence  "sets  ''arise,  and,  in  due  time,  the  club, 
which  is,  in  principle,  merely  the  constitutional  development  of 
the  "set."  At  Oxford,  this  is  especially  the  cuse.  We  have 
clubs  of  every  description,  for  all  sorts  of  ])eople,  and  with  all 
sorts  of  objects.  There  are  clubs  for  the  Whigs,  and  clubs  Wm- 
the  Tories — clubs  for  High  Churchmen,  clubs  for  Low  Church- 
men, clu])s  for  No  Churchmen,  and  for  Roman  Catholics. — There 
are  clubs  for  idlers  and  for  litterateurs — clubs  for  athletes  and 
cricketers — clubs  for  instrumental  musicians  and  for  vocal — 
clubs  for  dramatists  and  bicyclists — clubs  for  boating-men  and 
volunteers — clubs  for  tennis  players  and  billiard  players — clubs 
for  chess  players  and  whist  ]ilayers — clubs  for  archa3ologi>ts 
and  botanists — clubs  for  geologists  and  spiritualists — and,  lastly, 
even  a  club  for  change-ringers. 

Without  any  further   preface  I  propose  to  endeavour  in  this 
paper  to  give  my  readers  some  slight  idea  of  the  aims  and  ends 
of  these  various  societies,  and  by  what  means  and  to  what  extent 
those  aims  and  ends  are  attained.      In  the  tirst  place,  literary 
societies  demand    our   attention.     There  are   several  of  these 
naturally,  and,  by    some    classes   of  men,    energetically  sup- 
l>orted.     Perhaps  one  of  the  best  known  in  modern  days  is  the 
"  Carlyle  Club,"  founded  by  his  devotees  on  the  death  of  tlie 
author  of  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship^  with  the  view  of  cherishiui^ 
and  promulgating  the  peculiar  philosophy  and  teaching  of  their 
hero.     Then  come  the  "Shakespere    Clubs";    these    exist   in 
several  of  the  Colleges,  and  they  meet  weekly,  for  the  purpose 
of  reading  and  commenting    upon    some  one  of    the    great 
dramatist's  plays.      Of  a  different   nature  is  the    "Stmfi'ord 
Club,"  founded    in    memory  of    the     unfortunate   friend   of 
Charles  I.,  for  the  fostering  of  ultra-Conservative  and  advanced 
High  Church  principles,  in  fact  semi-political  in  its  chai*acter. 
Its  members  meet  weekly,  select  a  subject,  one  member  reads 


UNIVERSITY  l.IFK  AT  OXFORD.  175 

a  paper  on  it,  and  a  discussion  follows.  There  are  many  other 
societies  similar  to  these,  n.amed  after  great  leaders,  whose*  foot- 
steps their  members  wish  to  tread  in.  I  may  here  say  a  Avord 
about  tlie  "  Phih)thespian  Society,"  founded  in  1879,  having  as 
its  object  tlje  resuscitation  and  advancement  of  tlie  dramatic 
art  in  Oxford.  Well,  indeed,  it  has  succeeded,  and  it  now 
more  tlian  rivals  the  w^ell-known  A. !).('.  at  Cambridge.  Last 
term,  this  society  gave  four  i)erformances  of  Lord  Lytton's 
^'  Money "  before  crowded  and  enthusiastic  audiences,  which 
elicited  the  approval  of  the  critics  and  the  well  deserved,  though 
rarely  awardefl  praise  of  the  whole  University, 

Debating  societies  are  closely  allied  to  literary  societies,  in 
fact,  I  might  say — their  not  unnatural  development.  The 
range  of  subjects  is  wider.  Members  differ  more  in  opinions 
generally,  discussion  is  more  animated  and,  to  the  out-sider, 
more  interesting. 

Clubs  of  this  nature  are  j)erhaps  th(*  most  popular  amongst 
Oxford  men.  Every  College  lias  its  ch^bating  club.  The 
Trinity,  University  and  Jesus;  the  last  named— the  oldest 
in  Oxford — with  the  "  Stapledon," at  Exeter,  and  the  "  Wolsey," 
at  Christ  Church,  are  the  best  known.  There  are  besides,  several 
inter-Collegiate  debates,  notably  the  "  University "  and  the 
*'  Isis."  Public  schoolmen,  too,  keep  up  their  interest  in  their 
old  schools,  by  forming  associations  of  this  nature  with  some- 
what more  of  the  social  aspect.  Hence,  we  have  the  "Etonian," 
the '*  iSIarlborough,"  the  "Rugby,"  and  others;  among  them 
the  Welsh  "Friais'  Debating  Club"  for  Bangor  and  Brecon 
schoobnen.  Last,  but  not  least,  in  this  category,  comes  the 
*'  Oxford  Union  Society,"  originally  fonned  for  the  purpose  of 
holding  debates  ;  but  of  this  more  will  be  said  later  on.  I  will 
ask  my  readers  to  visit  one  of  these  debates  with  me.  It  is  held 
in  the  College  Hall  on  this  particular  evening,  (sometimes  it  is 
in  a  lecture-room  or  some  undergraduate's  rooms),  seated  in  a 
curious,  old,  high-backed  arm  chair,  which  has  been  filled  by 
many  a  head  of  the  College,  in  its  day— is  the  President, 
appearing  becomingly  grave  and  dignified,  forthehon.  members 
are  especially  imruly  and  jocose  to-night.  On  his  left  and  right 
are  the  treasurer  and  secretary,  with  the  ex-presidents  and 
members  of  committee.  But  i)roceedings  are  about  to 
conm[ience,  and  a  general  shout  of  "order,  order-r-r"  ensues, 
again  to  be  renewed,  when  some  member  enters  the  hall, 
i^moking,  or  with  his  hat  on.  The  secretary  reads  the  minutes 
of  the  last  meeting,  and  every  brain  is  set  to  work  to  find 
objections  to  raise  to  them.  The  unfoilunate  scribe  is  recom- 
mended to  be  careful  about  his  commas,  crossing  his  t's,  &c., 
and  called  to  order  for  intoning  (!)  the  minutes.  Eventually, 
they  are  passed,  and  now  comes  the  fun  of  the  evening.  The 
officers  undergo  a  8j)ecie3  of  moral  torture,  or  bull  baiting — 


176  UNIVERSITY  LIFE  AT  OXFORD. 

members  get  up  and  ask  questions  "relative  to  their  oflScial 
duties  "  of  every  conceivable  nature.  The  rules  pass  through 
the  severest  criticism.  The  president  is  requested  to  jwint  out 
which  are  obsolete — which  rescinded —which  amended.  The 
treasurer  is  badgered  about  the  state  of  the  society's  exchequer^ 
and  the  secretary  about  the  price  and  quality  of  ink  used,  or 
the  desirability  of  reporting  the  questions  and  speeches  in 
extenso -  ~  tmly  a  Herculean  task.  But  now  question-time  is 
ended  and  debate  begins.  The  subject  is  a  political  one,  and 
discussion  waxes  warm ;  several  of  the  speeches  are  excellent, 
calm,  and  argumentative,  heated  and  enthusiastic,  eloquent, 
tedious, — of  every  kind,  some  received  with  applause,  some  with 
merriment,  none  with  ridicule ;  then  comes  the  reply  and  the 
division,  the  result  of  which  is  hailed  with  loud  cheers  by  the 
enthusiastic  majority.  The  president  adjourns  the  "  House/' 
and  the  meeting  is  over.  JNIany  of  these  meetings  are  rendered 
pleasant  by  certain  relaxations,  permitting  members  to  smoke 
and  indulge  in  tea,  coffee,  wine,  and  dessert — indeed,  some  of 
the  societies  provide  such  refreshments  at  the  public  expense. 
In  short,  many  an  hour,  otherwise  dull,  may  be  pleasantly  and 
not  unprofitably  spent  at  an  Oxford  debating  society.  Political 
societies,  too,  are  an  inevitable  result  of  the  meeting  of  so  many 
men  in  one  spot.  Their  constitution,  objects,  and  characteristics 
will  be  too  familiar  to  my  readers  to  need  any  description  here. 
It  will  be  sufficient  to  say  that  at  Oxford,  as  elsewhere,  they  are 
supported  with  the  popularity  they  deserve.  The  best  known 
are  the  "  Palmerston,"  the  "  Grosvenor,"  and  the  ''  Canning.'' 

Social  societies,  in  the  limited  sense,  in  which  I  must  use  the 
word  in  this  paper,  should,  I  think,  be  included  in  our  group  of 
non-convivial  clubs,  though  they  materially  differ  from  those 
previously  mentioned.  Such  are  the  "  University  Chess  Club," 
the  "Cavendish  Whist  Club,"  "Billiard  Clubs,''  and  others  of  a 
similar  nature,  each,  let  us  hope,  doing  good  in  its  way  and 
serving  to  strengthen  the  bonds  of  union  and  friendship  which 
connect  its  members.  I  must  place  on  this  list  "  Loder's  Club,'^ 
for  Christ  Church  men,  which  is  very  similar  to  our  provincial 
town  and  county  clubs.  This,  and  the  chess  club,  owe  their 
position  and  influence  to  the  fact,  that  the  Prince  of  Wales  and 
the  Duke  of  Albany  were  connected  with  them  during  their 
undergraduate  days. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  include  musical  clubs  among  any  of 
the  above ;  so  it  will  perhaps  be  better  to  treat  of  them 
separately.  The  best  known  are  the  "  Oxford  Choral  Union  '^ 
and  the  "  Philharmonic."  These  provide  us  terminally  with 
some  excellent  oratorios  and  concerts,  which  always  meet  with 
the  approbation  they  merit.  Each  College,  too,  has  its  musical 
club,  which  gives  yearly  concerts  in  the  summer  term,  and 
perhaps  another  in  the   winter.     Some,  too,  have  their  own 


UNIVERSITV  LIFE  AT  OXFORD.  177 

l)ecularities ;  that  at  Wad  ham  is  held  iu  a  marquee,  iu  the 
beautiful  grounds  at  the  back  of  the  College,  all  illuminated  for 
the  occasion,  while  the  Welsh  songs  and  good  singing  make  the 
Jesus  concert  one  of  tlie  most  popular.  Lately  a  "  Gregorian 
Association"  has  been  set  on  foot,  and  has  succeeded  wonderfully. 
The  "  Society  of  ( 'hange  Ringers  "  also,  though  not  well  known, 
is  increasing  in  numbers  and  interest. 

But  all  these  societies — literary,  debating,  political,  social, 
musical — are  united  in  the  great  "  Union  "  Society  with  its 
8,000  members — a  society  on  whose  long  roll  uf  illustrious 
presidents  may  be  seen  the  names  of  CUadstone,  Tait,  Salisbury, 
Magi*ath,  Acland,  Lymington,  and  others — leaders  in  the  political, 
clerical,  or  literary  worlds.  The  Society  numbers  upwards  of 
5,000  graduate  and  1,500  undergraduate  members,  the  govern- 
ment, however,  being  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  latter.  Its 
huge  library,  rich  in  theological  and  historical  works,  with  its 
20,000  volumes,  its  writing  rooms,  magazine  rooms,  smoking 
rooms,  coffee  rooms,  and  numerous  reading  rooms,  are  daily  and 
hourly  teeming  with  the  motley  crowd  of  members.  Here  may 
be  seen  the  grey-haired  don  and  the  moustache-less  freshman, 
the  grave,  pompous  doctor,  and  the  languid,  long-haired  aesthete, 
the  nobleman  and  the  toady  (the  "  tuft "  and  the  "  tuft- 
hunter  "),  the  pale,  careworn  scholar,  and  the  careless,  merry- 
eyed  commoner — all  are  here  governed  by  the  same  rules,  all 
on  an  equality.  In  the  Society's  grounds  stands  the  new 
Debating  Hall,  capable  of  accommodating  nearly  2,000  members, 
with  its  gallery,  always  crowded,  for  visitors.  At  the  upper  end, 
on  a  dais,  is  placed  a  velvet-cushioned,  carved  oaken  throne  for 
the  President ;  on  chairs,  at  the  left  and  right,  sit  the  Librarian 
and  Treasurer ;  below,  at  a  table,  is  seated  the  Secretary* :  while 
in  a  semi-circle,  on  either  side  of  the  chair,  seats  are  reserved 
for  the  "  Standing  Committee."  Its  debates  are  always  good 
and  well  attended,  and,  I  think,  their  influence  felt  in  England. 
It  was  at  these  meetings  that  Gladstone  and  Salisbury,  the 
rival  leaders,  and  many  other  ministers  and  ex-ministers,  first 
thundered  forth  their  eloquence,  and  finally  gained  the  highest 
palm — the  presidency  of  the  "  Union." 

So  &r  I  have  dealt  with  what  might  be  termed  "  Serious 
Societies  f  societies  haying  as  their  aim  the  cultivation  of  some 
real,  some  intellectual  pursuit ;  but  now  I  turn  to  those  whose 
end  is  some  physical  good,  or  harm — let  my  readers  judge 
which.  I  mean,  "  Athletic  Societies."  Of  these  I  hope  to  give 
some  good  account  in  a  future  article,  but  the  title  and  object 
of  the  present  paper  demand  that  some  passing  notice  of  them 
should  be  made. 

First  in  antiquity,  popularity,  and  importance  comes  the 
O.U.B.C.  (the  Oxford  University  Boat  Club),  of  which  I  trust  to 
treat  in  next  month's  article  on    "The  Kiver."    Then  come 


178  UNIVERSITY  LIFE  AT  OXFORD. 

the  University  Cricket,  Rugby  P'ootball,  Association  Football, 
Athletic,  Lawn  Tennis,  Bicycle,  Swimming,  Skating,  Golf,  and 
other  Clubs.  Each  College  possesses  its  Boat,  Football  (2), 
Cricket,  Athletic,  and  Tennis  Clubs  ;  and  there  are  in  addition 
several  inter-Collegiate  Clubs  for  Athletes,  e,g.^  the  ''  Revellers" 
and  the  "  Zingari  "  Clubs,  whose  members  are  the  elite  of  the 
cricket  world ;  and  "  Vincent's "  for  the  heroes  of  the  river. 
Some  idea  of  the  importance  of  athletic  clubs  in  Oxford  may  be 
obtained  from  the  fact  that  Oxford  men,  it  has  been  roughly 
estimated,  spend  £20,000  annually  in  supporting  them,  of  which 
nearly  half  is  devoted  to  boating  alone. 

Like  the  preacher,  I  have  now  come  to  my  "  lastly  f  and, 
like  his,  it  will  be  the  longest  paragraph  of  all,  yet  I  trust  not 
so  long  as  to  weary  the  reader.  Convivial  societies,  some  of 
my  readers  will  think  with  shocked  feelings  and  pious  horror, 
are  but  cloaks  for  drunkenness,  gambling,  and  intemperanc 
of  every  kind ;  but  I  assure  these  good  people  that  they  are 
nothing  of  the  sort.  They  are  but  means  by  which  good 
fellowship,  friendshij),  and  intimacy  are  fostered  and  increased 
among  men  of  similar  tastes  and  temperaments.  All  are  not 
debaters — all  are  not  Whigs  or  Tories — all  are  not  athletes  or 
musicians, — but  all  can  meet  at  the  festive  board — all  partake 
of  the  loving  cup — all  join  in  the  rollicking  chorus.  Clubs  of 
this  kind  are  almost  invariably  confined  to  members  of  the 
same  College,  though  there  are,  I  believe,  some  which  are  not 
so  restricted.  The  better  known  class  is,  of  course,  the  *'  Wine" 
Clubs,  the  most  important  of  which  are  the  "  Bullingdon,''  at 
Christ  Church  (confined  to  noblemen),  and  the  "  Falemian,"  at 
Exeter,  whilst  several  other  colleges  ix)ssess  an  "Adelphi.'' 
But  the  commonest  and  pleasantest  type  of  the  convivial  club  is 
the  "  Breakfast  Club,"  several  of  which  may  be  found  in  every 
College.  Here  men  of  the  same  "set"  meet  each  other ;  College 
politics  (and  these  are  often  more  important  and  interesting  to 
those  concerned  than  other  politics^  are  discussed ;  candidates 
to  represent  the  "  set "  in  the  contest  for  College  offices  are 
chosen ;  matters  of  all  kinds  are  debated. 

Some  of  my  readers,  however,  are,  I  know,  anxious  to  hear 
of  Wine  Clubs,  and  to  have  a  description  of  an  Oxford  "Wine;" 
for  wine  parties  are  peculiar  to  the  two  Universities ;  but  my 
account  must  be  brief  and  general,  for  my  article  is  already 
exceeding  its  wonted  limit  as  regards  length. 

Wine  parties  are  usually  given  to  celebrate  some  event,  either 
the  host's  obtaining  a  good  "  class,"  taking  his  degree,  winning 
his  "  blue,"  coming  of  age,  or  some  other  event  of  due 
importance.  When  the  appointed  evening  comes,  the  host 
causes  all  breakables  and  pictures  to  be  removed  from  his 
rooms,  and  long  tables  are  loaded  with  dessert,  pastry,  wine 
glasses,  &c.,  by  the  indefatigable  scout;    whilst  through  the 


UNn^RSITl'  LIFE  AT  OXFORD.  179 

half  open  scout-room  door  may  be  seen  wine  baskets  filled  with 
sherry,  port,  claret,  hock,  chablis,  champagne,  burgundy,  soda, 
and  lemonade  bottles.  Near  the  centre  of  the  table  is  the 
loving  cup,  which  our  host  has  won  at  his  College  sports,  or  in 
some  boat  race,  whilst  the  sideboard  is  loaded  with  cigar  and 
cigarette  boxes,  "  honey-dew,"  and  pipes.  Now  the  guests  are 
beginning  to  arrive  ;  the  host  chooses,  in  accordance  with 
custom,  some  friend  to  act  as  President  for  the  evening,  he 
himself  taking  the  vice-chair  (ii  there  be  one^.  In  a  short  time 
the  business  of  the  evening  commences.  The  guests  at  first 
confine  themselves  to  sherry  or  port,  the  more  temperate 
preferring  claret  or  lemonade.  Champagne  and  hock  follow 
later  on.  But  the  chairman  is  rising  to  propose  a  toast :  "  The 
Varsity"  (if  there  is  time  the  usual  loyal  toasts  precede  it ; 
they  are,  however,  more  often  left  out^ — then  the  various 
College  Clubs  are  toasted,  and  other  toasts,  interspersed  with 
songs,  are  lionoured.  When  the  President  raps  the  table  to 
reduce  the  now  noisy  assembly  to  some  degree  of  order,  and 
rises  to  pro[X)se  the  toast  of  the  evening,  "The  Host,"  his 
eulogy  is  received  with  bursts  of  applause,  and  the  toast  drunk 
enthusiastically  with  musical  honours  and  a  "three  times 
three."  Now  the  loving  cup,  of  which  every  one  viust  partake, 
circulates  with  its  attendant  penalty — "  a  song  or  a  speech." 
The  former  is  the  alternative  usually  chosen,  and  the  glasses 
are  clinked  to  many  a  jovial  chorus.  But  midnight  is  drawing 
near,  and  the  men  from  other  Colleges  must  get  in  before 
"  Tom "  strikes  twelve.  All  rise,  charge  their  glasses,  and, 
joining  hands,  sing,  or  rather  shout,  "  Auld  lang  syne."  The 
party  is  now  smaller ;  they  are  all  men  of  the  same  college,  and 
the  fun  is  kept  up  sometimes  till  two  or  three  a.m.,  when  the 

last  toasts,  " College,"  and  "the  President  of  the  evening,' 

are  duly  honoured,  and  the  guests  disperse,  leaving  the  tired 
host  to  his  own  reflections  among  upset  chairs  and  shivered 
wine  glasses — themselves  to  wake  up  in  the  morning  too  late 
for  chapel,  and  with  a  firm  resolve — how  often  broken  I — not  to 
go  to  another  "  Wine  "  during  their  whole  'Varsity  course. 

Such  are  some  of  the  Clubs  and  Societies  which  influence  or 
amuse  Undergraduates  at  Oxford.  The  action  of  that  influence 
on  individual  minds  and  characters  is  not  for  me  to  judge. 
Time  alone  will  show  whether  it  be  for  good  or  eviL 

Llyfr  Coch. 
Oxfardy  Jan.  20,  1883. 


M  2 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS, 


MARY    RUSSELL    MITFORD. 


NOTE     II. 

From  the  Cobbett  letters,  to  which  I  referred  last  month  on, 
for  a  matter  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  pages  or  so  in  the  first 
volume  of  Mr.  L'estrange's  work,  until  you  get  to  a  letter  ironi 
Mrs.  Hemans,  there  is  hardly  a  line  w^orth  reading ;  althougli 
Miss  Mitford's  correspondents  in  tlie  interval  were  people  of  the 
status  of  Lord  Holland,  Sir  William  Elford,  Mrs.  Hofland,  Miss 
Porden  (afterwards  Lady  Franklin,  Macready,  Kemble,  Dr. 
Milman,  and  Mrs.  TroUope.  Their  letters,  are  all  too 
hopelessly  commonplace  and  humdrum.  The  one  written  by 
Felicia  Hemans,  from  Rhyllon,  St.  Asaph,  is  interesting,  as 
showing  how  she  and  ^Miss  ^litford  first  became  acquainted.  Of 
special  interest  to  readers  of  the  national  magazine  is  the 
passage :  "  My  boys,  the  constant  companions  of  my  walks 
about  our  village,  and  along  our  two  rivers,  the  Elwy  and  the 
Clwyd,  are  not  less  interested  in  your  gipsies,  young  and  old, 
your  heroes  of  the  cricket  ground,  and,  above  all.  Jack  Hatch.'' 
The  friendship  of  these  two  women  was  a  purely  literary  one, 
the  letter  quoted  from  being  originally  nothing  more  than  an 
application  for  Mary's  autograph  fi-om  one  who  knew  her  only  by 
her  book.  Mary,  writing  in  1836,  says :  "  On  her  dying  bed  ilrs. 
Hemans  used  to  recur  to  my  descriptions  of  natural  scenery, 
and  meant,  if  she  lived,  to  have  inscribed  a  volume  to  me. 
She  was  a  charming  woman,  and  so  is  my  friend  Mi-s.  Howitt.'' 

It  is  with  the  letters  of  the  Rev.  Alexander  Dyce  and  Allan 
Cunningham  to  the  authoress  that  the  interest  of  this  collection 
begins  to  show  itself.  In  1826  we  first  get  glimpses  of  a 
veteran  litterateur  still  left  to  us — Mr.  S.  C.  Hall,  with  whom 
and  whose  wife  Miss  Mitford  became  acquainted  through  the 
Hoflands.  Mrs.  Hall  dedicated  to  her  friend  her  well-known 
Sketches  of  Irish  Charcvcter^  with  the  observation  that  "  my  first 
dear  book  was  inspired  by  a  desire  to  describe  my  native  place 
as  Miss  Mitford  had  Our  ViUageJ^ 

Mrs.  Trollope  frequently  corresponded  with  Miss  Mitford,  to 
whom,  on  the  20th  January,  1829,  I  find  her  writing  from 
Gincinatti :  "  Will  you  accept,  during  my  absence,  of  my  eldest 


MARGINAL  NOTES  OX  LIBRARY  BOOKS.        181 

s>oii  as  a  frieud  and  enthushistic  admirer  ?  I  pray  you,  do.  I 
t-anuot  describe  to  you  the  earnestness  with  which  he  desires 
this.  .  .  .  His  heart  and  soul  are  literary,  and  all  the  consolation 
he  can  receive  under  his  enforced  studies  will  and  must  be 
derived  from  literature."  This  was  Thomas  Adolphus  TroUope, 
the  brother  of  the  novelist,  Anthony  Trollope,  whom  we  have  so 
recently  lost,  and  the  author  of  several  very  good  works,  mostly 
of  history.  In  the  letter  from  Mr.  Wills  to  Miss  Mitford 
(Oct.  12,  1829)  occurs  a  vigorous  simile  ;  indeed,  the  letter  is  a 
very  good  one  altogether.  Writing  of  the  then  poj)ular  actresses 
an(l  actors,  he  says :  "  There  has  been  a  ^liss  Forest  roaring 
through  Ophelia,  like  a  town  bull  in  a  thunderstorm."  "  How 
short" — says  Douglas  Jerrold,  in  1880 — "how  short  the  pause 
from  a  hiss  to  a  huzza ;"  an  observation  lie  was  induced  to  make 
with  regard  to  certain  critics  who  had  in  his  case  changed 
"  unthinking  abuse  into  ecjually  ignorant  encomium."  Then, 
jis  now,  the  play-writer's  case  was  the  same.  "  If  he  succeed," 
said  Jerrold,  "  his  piece  has  the  immortality  of  a  month  ;  if  he 
fail,  his  name  is  gibbeted  in  every  journal  as  a  dullard  and  a 
coxcomb."  Strange  though  to  learn,  from  the  same  source, 
that  "  French  melodramas  have  ruined  us."  Those  words, 
instead  of  fifty  years  ago,  might  have  been  written  yesterday. 

r   must  complain  of  the  indiscriminate  way  in  which  these 
letters  have  been  put  together.     A  large  number  of  them  were 
never    worth    printing.      Of   these    se^veral    are  from    people 
whom  we  don't  want  to  know,   while    several  others,  utterly 
trivial,  are  from  people  wliom  we  do.     Under  the  latter  category 
may  be  placed  the  one  from  Nathaniel   Parker  Willis,  at  page 
-62.     It  is  no  more  worth  while  reading  that  a  man  failed  to 
get  away  from  his  dinner  in  time  to  keep  an  appointment,  and 
that  he  would  call  next  day  at  twelve,  because  Willis  wrote  it, 
than  if  it  had  been  written  by,  say,  a  clerk  in  the  city,  who 
could  have  done  it  every  bit  as  well.     Willis  in  person  appears 
to  be  a  bit  of  a  fop,  Sliss  Mitford  describing  him  as  ''  a  very 
elegant   young    man,  and  more  like  one  of  the  best   of  our 
peers'  sons  than  a  rough  republican," — a  description,  by  the 
way,  perfectly  applicable  to  one  of  the  best  known  of  modem 
authors,  whose  sketches  of  life  in  the  mines  might  lead  you  to 
believe  that  he  had  been  brought  up   in    the    diggings,  and 
had  no  more  manners    than   a   bear,  or   the    almost    equally 
rough  i^ople  whom  he    so    vividly    describes.      Sj^eaking   of 
Willis,   I  cannot    help   remarking   that    hi.^i    compliments  to 
Englishmen  and  English  society  are  laid  on  thick  in  some  of 
these  letters,  and  that  they  are   in  sad  contrast  to  the  hard 
things  be  afterwards  said  of  us  and  ours  in  his  Sufm/nier  Cruise 
in  the  MediterraThean,  an  otherwise  very  delightful  book. 

Connected  with  one  of  Miss  Mitford's  correspondent*,  George 
Darley,  the  story  is  told  that  his  father,  a  Dublin  aldeitoaxiL^ 


182       MARGINAL  NOIES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS. 

disinherited  him  because  he  s])ent  his  time  in  >\Titing  iwetry. 
Fancy  that  I  What  made  tlie  poor  man's  case  all  the  harder 
was  that  he  was  really  no  poet ;  so  that,  between  being  un- 
endowed by  the  Muses  and  disinherited  by  his  fatlier,  he  got 
into  a  very  bad  plight  indeed.  I  find  Harriet  ]\Iartineau 
writing  in  1836,  asking  her  friend  Mary  Mitford  to  sign  a 
petition  in  favour  of  an  international  coi)yright  between  this 
country  and  America,  and  ^liss  Mitford  next  year  speaking  of 
"  a  young  American  poet,  ilr.  Thackeray,  who  came  to  England 
partly  to  see  Miss  Edgeworth  and  myself."  That  couldn't  have 
been  William  Makepeace,  could  it  ?  He,  if  I  remember,  was 
born  in  India—  Calcutta,  or  somewhere — and  he  wasn't  a  poet, 
was  he  ?     At  least,  not  much  of  an  one. 

The  "fairest  and  dearest  of  my  contributors  to  FiadeiiH 
Tableaux^  xwe  Miss  Mitford's  words  in  writing  of  Miss  Barrett, 
"a  hermitess  in  (iloucester-i)lace,"  who  first  became  known  to 
the  public  as  a  2)oetess  by  the  insertion  of  one  of  her  ])oems 
in  the  New  Monthly  Matjazlnp^  edited  by  Bulw(»r,  in  1832. 
"  To  think  of  virtue  and  genius  is  to  think  of  her.  She  is 
so  sweet,  and  gentle,  and  pretty,  that  one  looks  at  her  as  if 
she  were  some  bright  flower.  If  she  be  spared  to  the  world, 
you  will  see  her  ]^)assing  all  women,  and  most  men,  as  a 
narrative  and  dramatic  poet."  These  are  Mary's  words  con- 
cerning: her  who  afterwai*ds  became  the  wife  of  Kobt^rt 
Browning.  There  is  a  charming  letter  from  this  talented 
woman  to  the  editor  of  the  Tableau^  at  page  16  of  the 
second  volume  of  the  presc^nt  work.  Shortly  afterwards  w<^ 
come  upon  references  (spiced  with  jealousy,  I  fancy)  to 
"  Boz "  and  to  Pichivicky  with  its  sale  of  thirty  thousand  a 
month.  W^e  get  glimpses  of  "  L.  E.  L."  dying  away  at  Capt» 
Coast  Castle,  of  gentle  "  Barry  Cornwall,"  of  that  "  very  nice 
person,  indeed,"  the  American  writer.  Miss  Sedgwick,  whom 
Mary  afterwards  quarrelled  with  because  of  a  disrespectful 
reference  which  she  had  publicly  made  to  old  Dr.  ^1  it  ford. 
The  Rev.  W.  Harness,  it  pleases  me  to  find,  "  had  the  Pick- 
wick countenance,"  by  which  I  shall  remember  him  evermore. 
As  good  as  anything  in  Our  Village  is  Mary's  letter  to  ^liss 
Barrett  (Alay  5th,  1842^.  The  next  one  might  have  been 
omitted  without  injury  to  any  ]^)art  of  the  volume  but  its 
size,  and  so  might  the  Rev.  W.  Lynn's  prosy  account  of  a 
proser  of  the  name  of  Stackall,  with  a  great  many  other  things 
that  follow. 

"We  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  Alfred  Tennyson  lately,'' 
writes  Mary  Howitt  in  December,  1846,  "and  like  him  quite 
as  well  as  the  man  as  the  poet.  He  is  really  a  noble  creature, 
with  one  of  the  purest,  kindest  spirits."  Apropos  of  ilary's 
query  as  to  whether  I^ongfellow  was  a  clergyman,  Mr.  J.  T. 
Fields  tells   a  very  good  story  at   ^jage    102.      The  brothers 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBKAKV  BOOKS.        183 

rhanniiig — William  Ellery  and  Walter — were,  one  a  preacher, 
and  the  other  a  doctor.  Both  were  at  a  party  in  Boston  one 
evening.  Some  one  was  taken  ill,  and  the  man  of  medicine 
was  sent  for.  The  servant  entered  the  room  where  the  brothers 
were  seated,  and  said,  "  Dr.  Channing  is  wanted."  "  Which 
Dr.  Channing?"  said  the  physician;  "the  one  y^ho preaches, or 
the  one  who  practises  ?^^     Cto  up  one,  Medicus. 

It  will  do  good  to  a  great  many  peoi)l(»  to  read  of  the  hearty 
detestation  in  which  De  Quincey  held  the  horrible  book  Unclfi 
ToTrCs  CaJbin^  conveyed  in  a  letter  of  the  English  Opium  Eater's 
daughter  to  Miss  Mitford,  on  the  14th  of  March,  1853. 
Inunediately  afterwards,  we  are  introduced  to  the  famous  Lettefi^s 
0)1  Art^  and  then  to  their  author,  John  Ruskin,  several  of  whose 
magnificent  letters  (badly  managed  editorially  in  the  matter  of 
punctuation)  follow.  Many  thinks  him  the  best  letter-writer  of 
his  or  any  age,  and  I  am  almost  inclined  to  agree  with  her. 
Certainly,  his  and  ^liss  liarrett's,  and  Cobbett's,  and  Mary's 
letters  are  individually  worth  all  the  rest  in  the  present 
collection.  Miss  Jephson  gives,  in  a  letter  to  ]\Ir.  Digby  Stark ey, 
n  very  interesting  extract  from  a  communication  of  Miss 
-Mitford  to  the  effect  that  Dr.  Wendell  Holmes  was  totally 
unknown  in  England,  until  ^liss  .Alitford  published  her 
Recollections  of  a  Literary  Life. 

In  her  literary  likes  and  dislikes,  ^lary  shows  herself  a  woman 
of  independent,  if  not  always  of  soundest  judgment.  Dickens, 
Jerrold,  and  Tom  Moore,  were,  in  lier  o})inion,  vastly  over-rated. 
Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe's  work  already  alluded  to  she  thought  but 
very  little  of.  She  greatly  preferred  the  liealthy,  cheerful, 
masculine  verse  of  Dr.  Holmes,  to  the  obscurity,  mysticism,  and 
little  dash  of  cant  observable  about  that  of  lx)ngfellow,  whose 
prose  she  pronounces  trash.  Of  Nathaniel  Hawthonie,  and 
Thomas  De  Quincey,  she  has  the  greatest  admiration.  In  a 
letter  to  Miss  Jephson,  dated  from  Swallowfield,  August  23rd, 
1852,  she  gives  a  characteristic  bit  of  ccmversation  between  the 
American  publisher.  Fields,  and  Carlyle,  at  some  great  dinner. 
"  You  know  what  a  blusterer  Carlyle  is,"  she  writes.  "  So  sir, 
ye're  an  American,"  (juoth  the  self-sufficient  Scotchman. 

Mr.  Fields  assented,  *  Ah,  that's  a  wretched  nation  of  your 
ain.  It's  all  wrong.  It  has  always  been  wrong  from  the  verra 
beginning.  That  grete  mon  of  yours,  George,  was  a  monstrous 
bore,  and  wants  taking  down  a  few  hundred  i>egs.' 

*  Really,  Mr.  Carlyle,'  rei)lied  my  friend,  *you  are  the  last  man 
in  the  world  from  whom  I  should  have  exi)ected  such  an 
observation.  Look  at  your  own  book  on  Cromwell !  What  was 
Washington,  but  Cromwell,  without  his  personal  ambition  and 
withoathis  fanaticism  T 

*  Eh,  sir,'  responded  Carlyle,  *  George  had  neither  ambition 
nor  religion,  nor  any  good  quality  under  the  sun.  Gecrgejgs 
just  Oliver  with  all  the  juice  squeezed  out !' " 


184       ]VIARGINAL  NOTES  OX  LIBRAE Y  BOOKS. 

^  Carlyle,"  Mary  says,  "has  the  double  misfortune  of  writing 
according  to  the  humour — that  is  the  ill  humour — of  the  moment 
without  the  slightest  regard  to  consistency  and  truth,  and  to  be 
surrounded  bv  none  but  admirers  or  listeners,  borne  down  by 
mere  noise.  In  England,  his  fashion  is  waning  rapidly,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  but  that,  like  most  over-rated  men,  lie  will  live 
to  share  the  common  fate  of  idols  knocked  down  by  his  former 
worshippers  in  revenge  of  their  own  idolatry.*'  There  is  either 
a  great  deal  of  true  or  a  great  deal  of  false  prophecv  in  this. 
Time  will  te^ll. 

Wordsworth,  Mary  says,  she  never  admired  so  heartily  since 
it  became  a  fashion  to  praise  him.  Only  half  a  volume  of  his 
will  live  as  long  as  the  language.  Moore  and  Kingsley  she 
pictures  for  us  giving  way  to  opium  smoking.  Of  Victor  Hugo, 
she  says  that  "with  all  his  faults  he  is  incomparably  the 
greatest  and  best  of  the  romantic  dramatists.  His  Tje  Roi 
SAviuse  is  a  very  great  play."  I  dare  say  Mr.  Swinburne,  who 
went  to  Paris,  in  November  last,  expressly  for  the  purpose  of 
being  present  nt  the  revival  of  that  drama,  fifty  years  after  it 
was  first  j)erfonned,  will  endorse  Miss  Mit ford's  opinion. 
"You  kno\^,'-  she  writes  ^Nliss  Jephson,  "that  the  lamented  of 
the  In  Memoriam,  was  the  historian's  son  Arthur,  that  he  was 
engaged  to  Miss  Tennyson,  and  that  after  his  death,  and  even 
after  her  marriage  to  another  man,  Mr.  Hallam  made  her  a 
large  allowance.  "  Truly,*'  she  says  in  another  place,  "  of  all 
the  fine  things  that  Louis  Napoleon  is  doing  for  France,  none 
to  my  mind,  is  so  valuable  as  the  putting  down  of  Journalism  !'' 
This  is  about  equal  to  Tom  Campbell's  panegyric  on  the  first 
Napoleon  for  having  hung  a  bookseller.  Hablot  Browne 
("  Phiz"),  the  artist,  whose  death  occurred  last  summer,  told 
Miss  Mitford  that  Charles  Lewis,  with  whom  he  spent  three 
weeks  in  Belgium,  was  a  constant  spring  of  good  humour,  and 
that  his  powers  of  amusement  never  flagged — a  great  contrast 
to  Dickens,  who  was  not  amusing  at  all.  There  is  a  good  deal 
of  Bayard  Taylor,  IjOuis  Napoleon,  (luizot  (whom  ^lary  thinks 
a  solemn,  hypocritical  coxcomb)  in  these  volumes  which  would 
take  up  too  much  sjiace  to  transcribe.  Thackeray's  Esmond, 
Miss  Mitford  chamcterises  as  long,  tedious,  full  of  common-place 
and  very  false  criticism,  and  containing  a  disgusting  love  story. 
Dickens'  novels,  she  describes  as  all  cant  and  caricature ; 
Thackeray's,  all  cynicism,  with  an  affectation  of  fashionable 
experience  ;   Joanna  Baillie's  plays  as  devoid  of  eloquence. 

"Mr.  Huddleston,  the  head  of  one  of  om*  great  Catholic 
families,"  we  are  told,  "  was  in  despair  at  the  marriage  of  the 
French  emperor.  ICe  had  followed  the  empress  from  Spain  to 
Paris,  when  he  was  recalled  by  the  illness  of  his  father ;  after 
whose  death,  Huddleston  thought  of  returning  to  Fnmce,  to 
throw  himself  and  his  £40,000  a  year  at  Iv^t  iee\.,\NV\^\il\\^ 


MAEGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRAKY  BOOKS.       185 

emperor  stepped  in  and  canied  off  the  prize.  Lady  Eussell 
heard  from  Paris  that  one  of  the  libels  they  wished  to  suppress 
was  based  on  the  statement  that  the  Spanish  grandee  who 
married  the  Empress's  mother,  was  a  most  wretched,  deformed 
little  creature.  Of  the  empress  herself,  I  find  Miss  Browning 
writing  that  she  was  educated  at  a  respectable  school  at  Bristol, 
and  was  very  English.  This,  however,  did  not  "  prevent  her 
shooting  with  pistols,  leaping  gates,  driving  four-in-hand,  or 
upsetting  the  carriage  when  the  frolic  required  it — as  brave  as 
a  lion  and  as  true  as  a  dog.  They  say  she  powders  her  hair 
with  gold  dust,  for  effect,  &c.''  Alas,  poor  Eugenie !  How  times 
have  changed  with  thee  and  thine. 

In  reference  to  her  story  of  the  ^'lad  called  Vernon  Harcourt,'' 
who,  under  the  signature  of  "An  Englishman,"  abused  her  "dear 
emperor"  in  the  Times^  Aliss  Mitford  and  Mr.  George  Augustus 
Sala,  have  been  clearly  convicted  of  error.  The  "Letters" 
were  written,  not  by  the  present  Home  Secretary,  but  by  Colonel 
Bates.  Mrs.  Browning  tells  Mary,  in  1853,  that  Robert  Owen, 
of  Lanark,  has  been  converted  to  a  belief  in  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  by  spirit  rappings — a  game  at  which  all  the  world  was 
then  employed.  "  The  young  Kussells  were  surcharged  with 
electricity ;  the  girls  not  being  able  to  take  off  a  petticoat,  but 
it  crackled,  or  brush  their  hair  in  the  dark,  but  it  emitted  sparks 
like  a  cat."  As  a  great  piece  of  news,  in  July  the  same  year,. 
Henry  Chorley,  of  the  Athenccumy  tells  Miss  ^litford  that 
Villete  is  the  actual  experience  of  Charlotte  Bronte,  who  went 
to  Brussels  and  became  an  usher  in  a  Belgian  school. 

>Iartin  Tupper,  a  singularly  good  natured  man,  whose  books 
Mary  cannot  read,  and  Alexander  Smith — a  "second  Shakspeare" 
in  his  day,  of  whom  my  readers  have  probably  heard  but  little — 
came  together  on  a  visit  to  Mary,  from  Albury,  in  August,  1853. 
Smith,  besides  an  atrocious  squint  which  he  could  not  help,  was 
dirty,  discontented,  and  conceited  to  a  degree  quite  incredible. 
He  had  a  knack  of  cutting  out  from  his  works  any  lines  or 
passages  which  a  person  of  taste  might  happen  to  commend, 
leaving  the  things  that  went  before  to  join  themselves  with 
those  that  came  after  in  any  way  they  could.  No  wonder,  Mary 
thought  him  a  little  mad.  There  is  an  undated  letter,  enclosing 
a  poem  from  Walter  Savage  Landor,  in  this  collection,  but  in 
neither  letter  nor  poem,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  can  I  see  anything 
which  it  would  interest  the  reader  to  extract.  Mary's  last  letter 
is  dated  January  7tli,  1855,  and  is  written  to  Mrs.  Bennoch. 
In  it  she  speaks  of  her  wonderfiil  vitality.  Three  days  after  that 
she  was  dead. 


LITERARY  AND  ART  NOTES  OF  THE  MONTH,  Ac. 


A  sennon,  entitled  "Not  Seen,  but  Ix)ved,"  founded  upon 
1  Peter  i.,  8,  by  the  late  Rev.  Thomas  Jones,  of  Swansea,  appears 
in  the  January  number  of  the  Sunday  Magazine.  It  is  charac- 
terised by  considerable  breadth  of  view,  and  is  in  places  full  of 
real  simple  pathos  and  eloquence. 

"I  look  back,"  are  the  dead  man's  words,  "over  eighteen 
hundred  years  and  see  thinkers  and  philosophers — Newton,  and 
Butler,  and  Pascal,  and  the  greatest  men  that  ever  lived — 
believing  in  Christ.  .  .  To-day  some  of  the  finest  intellects 
in  England  believe  in  the  unseen  Christ.  There  are  very  f<"w 
liner  men  in  England  than  John  Henry  Newman,  Dr.  Pusey,  and 
Cardinal  Manning." 

"  Don't  be  frightened  at  my  libemlity,"  he  continues,  "  I 
believe  in  goodness  everywhere,  and  these  three  men,  taken  for 
all  in  all,  have  the  three  finest  heads  in  England.  There  are 
men  who  have  more  science;  there  are  better  politicians;  but, 
taken  for  all  in  all,  these  three  are  the  finest  men  in  England, 
and  they  believe  like  little  children." 

The  oil  painting  of  the  late  Joseph  Edwards,  which  has  been 
executed  by  Mr.  B.  8.  Marks  (late  of  Cardiff),  and  which  he  has 
expressed  a  wish  to  present  to  the  Cymmrodorion  Society,  can 
now  be  viewed  at  Mr.  Marks'  Studio,  40,  P^itzroy  Square,  W.  It 
is  a  full-faced  portrait,  and  in  addition  to  producing  an  excellent 
likeness  of  Mr,  Edwards'  features,  Mr.  Marks  has  succeeded  in 
catching  and  placing  on  his  canvas  that  pleasing  and  thoughtful 
expression  which  was  so  characteristic  of  Mr.  Edwards.  Mr. 
Marks'  success  in  this  respect  is  the  more  noteworthy  owing 
to  the  fact  that  he  has  painted  the  portrait — aided  only 
by  his  own  recollection  of  iNIr.  Edwai*ds — from  an  ordinary 
photograph. 

Out  of  fourteen  candidates,  of  whom  eight  were  ministers, 
3Ir.  Donald  MacKinnon  has  been  chosen  to  fill  the  new  Celtic 


LITERAKY   AND   ART   NOTES.  187 

oliair  at  tlie  Edinliurgli  University.  He  was  distinguished 
during  his  University  career,  says  the  Athencvum^  as  a  student 
of  unusual  industry,  and  in  more  recent  years  he  has  made  a 
close  study  of  liis  native  tongue.  In  connection  with  this 
chair  Professor  Blackie  now  advocates  a  travelHng  fellowship. 

Writing  Notes  and  Queries  a  coiTespondent  asks  whether 
the  Britisli  prince-name  Cuaedda  may  not  regally  be  Contista, 
the  expanded  form  of  comes,  a  continuation  of  the  title  Comes 
Britanniuruni  of  the  Roman  occupation  ?  This  is  no  unfair 
specimen  of  the  antiquarian  tendency  to  roam  far  and  wide  in 
seardi  of  that  whicli  may  be  found  at  the  threshold  of  one's 
own  door.  The  British  accounts  of  Ciiiie.dda  Wledig  and  the 
family  of  Caneddas  are  surely  satisfactory  enough,  historically 
and  philologicaily,  as  things  go,  to  render  unnecessary  the 
attempt  to  refine  them  away  into  nothing. 

"  When  tilt*  description  of  a  castle  is  signed  with  the  initials 
*  (t.  T.  C.,'  "  says  a  recent  number  of  the  Pall  Mall  Oazette, 
''  the  antiquary  knows  from  experience  that  it  is  worthy  of 
careful  attention,  and  this  is  as  true  of  tlie  notice  on  Hertford 
Castle,  which  has  just  appi»ared  in  the  Builder,  as  of  its  pre- 
decessors. Though  litth*  is  left  of  the  old  building,  enough 
remains  to  show  that  its  walls  originally  included  several 
acres  of  ground,  and  that  its  })osition,  both  naturally  by  the 
marshes  of  the  Lea  and  artificially  l)y  the  builder's  hand,  must 
have  b(»en  of  considerable  strength.  Kings  and  queens 
occasionally  spent  a  few  days  theiv  down  to  the  reign  of  Queen 
Elizaljeth,  and  her  father  at  one*  time  contemplated  making  the 
castle  a  perman(»nt  residence  foi-  himself  or  for  one  of  his 
children.  Since  1630  it  has  ceased  to  be  the  property  of  the 
Crown,  and  for  a  short  time  prior  to  the  erection  of  Haileybury 
it  was  occupied  by  the  East  India  Company  as  a  training-school 
for  their  cadets.  If  '  G.  T.  C  will  only  collect  his  scattered 
paj)ers  on  castles  and  illustrate  them  with  his  neat  little  plans 
of  their  sites,  he  will  confer  a  favour  on  tlu^  archaeologist  and 
the  tourist."  That  "  G.  T.  C."  is  3Ir.  George*  Thomas  Clark,  of 
Dowlais  House,  may  be  no  great(»r  news  to  the  readers  of  the 
National  Magazine  than  that  Queen  Anne  is  dead,  or  that  the 
Dutch  have  taken  Holland. 

"  Considerable  impatience,"  says  a  Welsh  daily  newspaptn*,  "  is 
felt  at  the  delay  in  publishing  the  transactions  of  the  Cymm- 
rodorion  Society.  A  third  instalment  of  the  "  Gododin,"  a 
transcript  from  the  "  Llyfr  Cocli  o  Hergest,"  and  a  number  of 
"  Y  Cyramrodor,"  were  announced  as  in  hands  of  the  printer 
several  months  ago.  But  neither  of  these,  nor  yet  the  annual 
i-eport  for  the  year  ending  9th  November,  1882,  have  been 
published.  Perhaps  the  recent  fire  at  the  premises  of  the 
Society's  printers  has  something  to  do  with  the  result.     In  any 


188  LITEBAKY  AND  ART  NOTES. 

case  the  editors  would  do  well  to  secure  l>etter  despatch  for 
their  publications." 

In  the  Red  Dragon  for  December  reference  was  made  to  a 
meeting  held  at  the  JNlansion  House,  London,  when  it  was 
decided  to  circulate  a  translation  of  the  English  National 
Anthem  into  the  various  Hindu  dialects.  A  correspondent 
reminds  us  that  "  God  bless  the  Prince  of  Wales,"  translated 
into  the  Paraee  language,  has  long  since  been  sung  by 
thousands  in  India,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  following  notices 
from  the  Times  during  the  Prince  of  Wales'  visit  in  1875  : — 
**  Bombay,  November  10 :  A]  Translation  of  the  Hymn  *  God 
bless  the  Prince  of  Wales,'  into  the  native  dialect,  was  sung  by 
the  children." — "Madras,  December  15:  The  most  striking 
scene,  however,  was  a  gathering  of  upwards  of  14,000  natives 
and  Eurojicans,  who  sang  Miod  bless  the  Prince  of  Wales,'  as 
the  Prince  passed." 

With  reference  to  the  able  and  interesting  article  on 
"Cromwell  and  his  connection  with  Wales,"  concluded  last 
month,  Ceiriog  Hughes,  the  well-known  Welsh  poet,  writes:  — 
"  It  would  l^e  a  pity  if  the  article  on  Oliver  Cromwell  was 
finished  without  giving  a  sketch  of  his  coat  of  arms.  The* 
discovery  of  his  escutcheon  and  device,  made  in  the  Herald's 
College  a  short  time  ago  (about  1880,  I  think),  removes  all 
doubt  as  to  Cromwell's  pedigree.  Englishmen  will  never 
believe  he  was  of  Welsh  origin,  until  the  identical  coat  of 
arms,  &c.,  be  produced.  When  the  subject  was  handled  before 
by  Stephens  and  others,  this  discovery,  which  clenches  the  nail, 
had  not  been  made."  We  will  endeavour  to  give  a  sketch  of 
the  coat  of  arms  in  an  early  number. 

Criticising  Mr.  E.  J.  Newell's  recently  published  volume,  the 
Graphic  says: — The  author  of  "The  Sorrow  of  Simona  and 
Lyrical  Verses,"  E.  J.  Newell  (Kegan  Paul),  is  probably  a  young 
man;  if  this  be  so,  a  good  deal  may  be  expected  from  him  in  tlie 
future.  The  principal  poem,  treating  Boccaccio's  well-known 
story  of  the  poisoned  sage  plant,  has  passages  of  real  beauty, 
although  it  shows  too  plainly  the  influence  of  Keats — as  was, 
perhaps  inevitable  ;  and  the  opening  verse  is  rather  too  bold  a 
copy  of  Chaucer.  "  Ehjah  "  has  more  originality  and  ix)wer,  as 
has,  in  a  diflferent  way,  "  The  Coquette "  in  the  style  of  the 
seventeenth  century ;  whilst  "  Merry  Carlisle  "  and  "  The  Head 
on  Rickergate  "  are  clever  ballads.  The  devotional  pieces  have 
some  of  them  rare  beauty  and  feeling,  especially  "Good 
Friday."  Mr.  Newell  deserves  cordial  encoiu^gement.  We 
ourselves  have  ready  a  review  of  the  work,  which  pressure  of 
matter  has  obliged  us  to  hold  over  until  next  month. 

A  Chicago  paper,  the  Inteinor^  says  : — "Mr.  Gladstone  loves 
to  sit  down  to  work  immediately  after  breakfast,  and  to  toil  c»n 


LITEKARY   AND   ART   NOTES.  189 

to  within  half-an-liour  of  dinner  time,  when  he  will  take 
j)erhap8  a  hasty  gallop  on  horseback,  or  a  quick  walk.  About 
one  or  two  in  the  afternoon  he  takes  a  biscuit  and  a  couple  of 
glasses  of  sheny — as  he  once  informed  a  teetotal  deputation  to 
its  dismay,  *  he  found  it  gave  him  renewed  strength.'  Next  to 
Homer,  Dante  is  Mr.  Gladstone's  favourite  author.  He  is  fond 
of  Scott ;  and  Macaulay,  he  admits,  cured  him  of  liis  extreme 
Church  and  State  views."  We  are  assured,  on  very  high 
authority,  that  this  statement  is  quite  incorrect.  What  Mr. 
Gladstone's  experience  of  stimulants  is  will  be  given  in  Mr. 
A.  Arthur  Reade's  forthcoming  work  on  "  Study  and 
♦Stimulants,"  which  will  be  published  early  in  February. 


sac 


draconigenj:. 


Our  Welsh  mountain  streams  are  apt  to  be  thoughtlessly 
despised  by  English  visitors.  With  a  worthy  contractor,  who 
has  the  making  of  the  Rhondda,  Caerphilly,  and  Newport 
railway,  the  great  hindrance  so  far  has  been  the  Taff  river. 
He  was  warned  of  the  difficulty  when  he  undertook  the 
contract,  but  at  that  time,  in  the  summer  of  1882,  the  Taff 
was  scarcely  worthy  of  the  name  of  a  river.  "  Why  man,"  he 
said,  looking  at  it  with  disgust,  "  I  have  a  couple  of  navvies 
who'd  drink  it  dry ! "  Whether  the  trial  has  been  made  we 
know  not,  but  this  we  are  certain  of,  that  the  Taff  goes  on 
for  ever. 


#  # 

* 


The  correspondent  who  sent  us  the  double  acrostic  whicli 
appeared  in  our  last  number,  writes : — "  In  accordance  with  the 
usage  in  the  Society  journals,  I  have  made  the  "lights"  of  the 
acrostic  rather  "  stiff."     Herewith  you  have  the  key  to  it. 

C  W  R  W 
H      O     U     R      I 

Alcohol 
R  o  o  K 
LazzaronI 

E      L      F     I      N 

Sans-CulotteS 

I  presume  I  may  correctly  describe  your  editorial  self  as^ 
St.  George's  antitype,  seeing  that  you  can  create  each  month 
what  he  could  only  destroy  once,  viz. :  *  Ye  Sanguinary  Dragon.' 
His  reptile  fed  on  human  kind  as  saith  ye  whilom  joker, 
Spenser,  whereas  your  Dragon  is  food  for  us  a  whole  month, 
and  may  even  then  be  dished  up  again  from  time  to  time. 
With  regard  to  light  numbers,  I  may  perhaps  mention  that  the 
wise  are  in  the  habit  of  "  bottling  up  their  wrath,"  and  that 
is  all  that  is  left  for  the  sons  of  Gwalia  to  do  with  the 
"  Cwrw  "  of  "  Saturday's  draught."  Light  3  is  thrown  out  as  a 
sop  to  your  Blue  Ribbon  readers   without  extra  charge.     The 


DRAGONIGEN^.  191 

chess-player  will  appreciate  light  4.  The  other  lights  shine 
with  their  own  proper  refulgence  and  do  not  need  the 
additional  twinkling  attempted  to  be  set  up  herein. 

#  # 

A  patient  having  been  recommended  by  his  physician  to- 
cli-ink  the  Sutton  (Spa)  water,  was  asked  on  the  next  visit,  "  how 
he  found  himself?" — "  Why,  doctor,"  said  he,  "I  can't  say  I  feel 
much  better,  although  I  have  followed  your  advice ;  but  it  is  so 
black."  "Black;**  said  the  physician*  "Why,  what  have  you 
been  taking  ?"  "  Exactly  what  you  have  ordered  me — Soot-an- 
water,  for  my  wife  raked  it  down  the  chimney,  and  mixed  it." 

*  # 

Irish  passenger.-- "  Steward,  how  soon  will  we  be  in  Liver- 
I  »ool  ?"  Steward — "  In  about  ten  minutes  or  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
sir."  Passenger  (looking  at  his  watch) — "  Ah,  that'll  do,  it  wants 
twenty  minutes  to  four;  so  I  shall  save  the  four  o'clock  train. 
Steward — "I  fear  not,  sir;  you  forget  that  the  Liverpool  time 
is  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  Dublin  time.  Passenger, — 
"  A  quarter  of  an  hour  before  Dublin  time;  Oh,  holy  Nelly, 
another  injustice  to  Ireland  !" 


*  « 


"  Vou  had  better  ask  for  manners  than  money,"  said  a  finely 
dressed  gentleman  to  a  beggar,  who  asked  for  alms.  "  I  asked 
for  what  I  thought  you  had  the  most  of,"  was  the  reply  of  the 
little  mendicant. 


Relics  of  Brnms. — Blisters. 


*  * 


# 


A  noisy  piece  of  crockery. — The  cup  that  cheers.  [The  saucer 
that  applauds  has  not  yet  been  heard  of. — Ed.] 


«  « 

* 


An  American,  describing  the  prevalence  of  duelling,  summed 
up  with  "  They  even  fight  with  daggers  in  a  room  pitch  dark.** 
"  Is  it  possible  ?"  was  the  reply.  '*  Possible,  sir  ?"  returned  the 
Yankee,  "  why,  I  have  seen  them." 


«  * 

* 


"  I  say,  Jem,"  said  a  plough-boy  one  day  to  his  companion, 
"  I  know  6l  a  new-fashion  macintosh  to  keep  out  the  wet." 
**  What's  that  ?"  "  Why,  if  you  eat  a  red  herring  for  breakfest, 
you'll  be  dry  all  day." 


192  DRACONIGEN.l':. 

One  of  the  leading  counsel  on  the  Home  Cu'cuit,  unable  the 
other  day  to  find  his  hat  in  the  robing  room  at  Westminster 
Hall,  exclaimed  that  he  had  lost  his  castor.  ^^Then  take 
Pollock's"  (which  happened  to  be  near),  was  the  apt  and 
ready  rejoinder  of  Sir  W.  Follett. 

*  * 

# 

Epitaph  on  a  brewer  drowned  in  his  own  vat. 

"  Interred  in  earth,  John  Porter  lieth  here. 
A  riddle — for  his  was  a  Watery  Bier." 

*  * 

* 

A  provident  Dutchman :  '*  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?' 
said  a  gentleman  to  an  old  Dutchman,  as  he  was  crossing  the 
Strand.  "  I  got  the  rheumatis."  The  gentleman  advised  him 
to  rub  himself  with  brandy,  until  it  penetrated  well.  **0h, 
man,  I  dosh  better  as  dat,"  replied  Mynheer,  "I  drinks  te 
prandy,  and  then  I  rubs  my  leg  mit  te  pottle." 


^    V 


X-      .-.. 


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:i  riiiiii  o!"  >iii4iil:irlv  hiitrisMiiii'  fojt  un'.>.  Hi-  t'K:«s  n.-w  y.'\'.\-,.\ 
\*\  'A  lin»»  ji'i'tU'^^vipli  1)1 'f^n;  ]iir,  \v:«>  w  irh'-l«'l  itf  iM:i*»''i!ln;f  i'l  ! 
iii  tell  actual    beaut  v,  inorc   *>lh  u  to  bi*   tv.n  }H>rh::|.-    in    'in-.- 


^1   !*    r  i.-f  ^  „/;■:■■ 


NOTABLE   MEN   OE    WALES. 


THE    LATE    LORD    BISHOP    OF    LLANDAFF. 


A     SKETCH. 


It  is  impossible  that  a  mere  sketch  of  the  late  venerable  and 
learned  Bishop  of  LlandafF  can  do  justice  to  his  diocesan  work, 
and  to  his  public  and  private  character.  The  writer  of  these 
few  pages  sincerely  feels  his  incompetence  to  draw  the  portrait 
he  would  desire  to  offer.  All  that  he  can  do  is  to  sketch  as 
faithfully  as  may  be,  from  memory  and  from  materials  in  his 
possession,  an  outline  of  that  remarkable  life.  A  complete 
biography  of  the  Bishop  would  comprise,  not  merely  his 
personal  life,  but  the  history  of  the  Anglican  Church  in 
Glamcrganshire  and  ^Monmouthshire  for  more  than  thirty 
years.  It  is  a  theory  in  the  Church  that  her  Bishops  are  married 
to  the  dioceses  over  which  they  rule ;  the  gold  ring  they  receive 
at  consecration  is  the  symbol  of  this  marriage,  and  the 
substitution  of  the  name  of  the  see  for  their  own  surnames  is 
associated  with  this  idea.  Having  become  by  Divine  permission, 
as  his  official  title  recites.  Bishop  of  LlandafiF,  Dr.  OUivant  did 
80  identify  himself  with  its  wants,  its  pastors  and  their  people, 
that  he  may  be  truly  said  to  have  been  metaphorically  manied  to 
his  see.  In  this  brief  sketch  no  justice  can  possibly  be  done  to  the 
protracted  work  of  a  Bishop  so  eminent,  and  a  Christian  so 
complete.  It  will  only  be  possible  to  convey  to  the  reader  an 
outline  reverentially  drawn  by  the  hand  of  a  layman,  who,  how- 
ever, knew  him  personally  for  just  thirty  years,  and  was  kindly 
admitted  to  his  private  friendship. 

The  Bishop  was  bom  in  1798,  and  received  his  education  at 
St.  Paul's  School,  London,  and  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
When  he  was  first  seen  by  the  writer  at  the  age  of  52,  he  was 
a  man  of  singularly  handsome  features.  His  &ce,  now  revived 
by  a  fine  photograph  before  me,  was  a  model  of  masculine  and 
intellectual  beauty,  more  often  to  be  seen  perhaps  in  these 

N 


^    Vti^ii'^t^^^ 


.    <  • . 


'        '       '        ■ '.  .  I  I     ■ !       . :  ■ 


•u    i.'v.i   .        v\ 


^  ^. 


THE  LATE  LORD  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF.       195 

no   material  difference)  and  Senior  Chancellor's  medallist,  and 
subsequently  gained  the  Alembers'  prize,  and  was  elected  Fellow 
of  Trinity.     He  had  also  studied  Hebrew  to  such  an  extent  that 
he  gained  Tyrwhitt's  Hebrew  Scholarship  in  the  year  1822. 
His   Latin   speeches   at  Cambridge  were  always  spoken  of  as 
classical  and  pure.     He  was  much  pleased  and  flattered  by  one 
day  meeting  Dr.  Williams,  the  late  President  of  Jesus  College, 
Oxford,  in  a  railway  carriage,  who  repeated  to  him  a  considerable 
portion  of  a  Latin  speech  which  he  had  heard  him  deliver  in  the 
Senate  House  at  Cambridge,  about  thirty  years  before.     The 
Bishop  had  himself  quite  forgotten  it,  but  he  came  home  and 
looked  for  the  sj^)eech,and  found  that  the  President  had  remem- 
bered it  with  almost  perfect  accuracy.     He  told  me  that  in  one 
of  his  journeys  abroad  he  met  in  the  train  a  foreign  Bishop 
reading  Plato,  and  not  being  accustomed  to  speak  the  language 
of  his  fellow  traveller,  they  sustained  a  conversation  in  Latin 
for  a  considerable  time.    Bishop  Thirlwall  himself  did  not  reach 
such  high  double  honours  as  his  future  colleague  in  Wales,  for 
though  he  too  was  Senior  medallist,  he  was  only  a  Senior  Optime 
in  the  mathematical  list.     It  was  impossible  to  combine  the 
three  distinctions  wliich  the  then  Mr.  Ollivant  attained  without 
abilities  of  the  first  order,  and  also  without  intense  and  sustained 
application.     After  taking  this  high  rank  in  the  examination 
schools,  and  his  Bachelor  of  Arts  degree,  he,  like  many  great 
scholars,  utilised  his  knowledge  by  tutorial  work.     He  wiis  for  a 
time  private   tutor  at   Cambridge    to   the    present  Duke    of 
Wellington  and  his  brother  Lord  Chiu-les  Wellesley,  and  also, 
in   one   vacation,  to  the  two  Wordsworths,  sons  of  the  then 
master  of  Trinity  College,  and  now  the  Bishops  of  Lincoln  and 
St.  Andrew's.     In  the  year  1827  he  accepted  the  appointment 
of  Vice-Principal  of  the  new  clerical  Welsh  College  of  St.  David's 
at   Lampeter,   which   he   retained   till   the  year    1843.      His 
Cambridge  friends  thought  at  the  time  that  he  was  going  to 
bury  in  that  remote  spot  his  great  talents  and  hopeful  prospects. 
How  far  the  acceptance  of  the  Vice*Principalship  may  have 
appeared  to  him  in  that  light  it  is  now  impossible  to  say.    But 
I  can  state  ui)on  the  best  authority,  that  his  feeling  was  that 
practical  work  would  be  more  beneficial  to  his  own  religious 
•character  than  prolonged  studies  in  the  University.    During  his 
tenure  of  the  Vice-Principalship  of  St.  David's  College  he  held  the 
living  of  Kerry  in  Montgomeryshire,  and  used  to  spend  the 
College  vacations  there,  throwing  himself  into  the  work  of  that 
parish  with  the  same  vigour  which  marked  every  other  pursuit. 
He  at  once  perceived  the  necessity  of  becoming  acquainted  with 
the  Welsh  language.    When  he  first  went  to  Lampeter  he 
began  to  study  Wekh,  and  received  a  young  student,  who  after- 
wwls  took  orders  in  North  Wales,  into  his  house  with  a  view  to 
•continuous  Welsh  conversation.  How  far  he  was  able  to  acquire 

N  2 


196  NOTABLE  JIEN  OF  WALES. 

the  true  emphatic  accent  I  am  not  able  to  say.  It  is  almost 
impossible  for  an  adult  Englishman  to  learn  to  speak  or  preach 
like  a  native  of  Wales.  But  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  Bishop  Ollivant  did  not  thoroughly  master  the  language. 
He  told  me  himself  that  he  possessed  eighty  Welsh  sermons 
of  his  own  composition,  and  though  he  may  not  have 
acquired  the  emphatic  accent  of  a  native,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  he  thoroughly  understood  the  language,  and  was  in 
the  habit  of  reading  the  leading  Welsh  periodicals.  It  was 
his  custom  to  delve  deeply  into  any  subject  that  specially 
attracted  his  attention.  In  his  study  of  Welsh,  for  example, 
he  came  upon  the  fact  of  the  mutation  of  consonants.  He 
was  not  satisfied  with  the  information  that  Welshmen  make 
these  i)eculiar  changes  by  ear  and  habit,  and  he  investigated 
this  lingual  phenomenon  until  he  believed  that  he  had  dis- 
covered a  law  that  governs  iheni.  At  the  opening  of  St. 
David's  College  it  was  his  privilege  as  Vice-Principal  to  preach 
one  of  the  inaugural  sermons.  That  sermon,  with  eight 
others,  preached  in  the  chapel,  was  published  by  him  in  the 
year  1831.  They  are  compositions  of  great  merit,  and,  taken 
together,  give  the  reader  a  very  high  estimate,  not  only  of 
his  religious  teaching,  but  also  of  his  literary  ability. 

His  was  no  narrow  official  view  of  clerical  education.  The 
following  words,  quoted  from  the  first  sermon,  will  show  how 
high  a  value  he  attached  to  the  enlargement  of  the  mind  by 
literary  pursuits.  "We  look  to  the  College  with  no  small 
degree  of  satisfaction  when  we  consider  the  benefit  it  is  likely 
to  confer  in  a  literary  point  of  view,  by  giving  an  impulse  to 
many  an  inquiring  mind,  and  opening  a  path  to  those 
intellectual  pleasures  for  which  many,  but  for  its  assistance, 
might  have  thirst  fed  in  vain."  Wonderful  to  narrate,  it  was 
the  Bishop's  privilege  to  preach  again  at  the  re-opening  of  the 
same  chapel,  after  enlargement,  just  fifty-three  years  afterwards. 
In  the  beautiful  sermon  which  he  then  delivered  he  thus 
alluded  to  a  recent  change  in  the  constitution  of  the  College  : — 
"  In  attempting  to  forecast  its  history,  the  most  important 
matter  for  consideration  is  the  change  introduced  into  its 
constitution  by  the  Koyal  Charter,  which  enlarged  its  course 
of  study,  and  thereby  made  it  a  school  for  general,  instead  of 
exclusive,  theological  education.  .  .  If  the  first  half-century 
of  its  being  has  seen  some  of  the  highest  positions  in  the 
Church  occupied  by  its  members,  who  partook  only  of  the  very 
inferior  advantages  which  fell  to  their  lot,  what  may  not  its 
future  students,  both  lay  and  clerical,  be  reasonably  expected 
to  seciure  ?  I  say  both  lay  and  clerical ;  and  I  purposely  do 
so,  for  I  am  far  from  regarding  this  extension  of  the  course 
of  study  as  likely  to  prove  beneficial  only  to  the  former." 
Then  follows  a  grand  sentence  which  is  a  good  example  of  his 


THE  LATE  LORD  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFK.        197 

lucid  and  euphonious  style.  "Whatever  tends  to  enlarge  the 
field  of  view  within  which  a  man's  thoughts  would  otherwise 
be  confined,  must  tend  also  to  widen  and  deepen  his 
sympathies  with  his  fellow  men,  to  diminish  his  prejudices,  and 
render  him  more  tolerant  of  diversity  of  opinion,  and  thus  to 
make  him  more  useful  to  his  day  and  generation.  Theology, 
though  the  noblest  of  all  studies  if  considered  in  relation  to 
its  ultimate  object,  is  no  exception  to  the  law  of  our  nature, 
that  if  we  surrender  ourselves  to  one  absorbing  pursuit,  the 
faculties  are  apt  to  be  dwarfed  by  the  narrowness  of  the  sphere 
to  which  they  are  restricted,  so  that  the  very  object  which 
this  exclusiveness  is  intended  to  promote  is  starved,  rather 
than  nourished,  for  lack  of  support." 

Bishop  OUivant  never  tm-ned  out  imperfect  work.  His  literary 
compositions  invariably  indicate  not  only  a  clear  thinker  but 
special  care  in  the  expression  of  his  ideas.  I  learned  frorn 
himself  that  when  he  had  some  literary  work  in  hand,  it  was 
his  practice,  after  completing  the  draft,  to  lay  it  aside,  time 
permitting,  for  about  a  month.  He  would  then  peruse  it 
critically,  strike  out  every  superfluous  word,  and  make  any  other 
improvement  that  then  occurred  to  his  mind. 

1  said  that  the  evidence  of  his  powerful  intellect  is  to  be 
found  partly  in  his  brilliant  academical  career,  which  culminated 
in  his  appointment  to  the  Regius  Professorship  of  Divinity  in 
the  year  1843.  That  appointment  brought  him  back  to 
Cambridge,  where  for  six  or  seven  years  he  had  leisiure  to  pmmie 
his  theological  studies,  and  enrich  his  mind  with  knowledge, 
which,  as  a  laborious  Bishop,  he  could  not  afterwards  have  acquired. 
I  am  informed  that  during  his  tenure  of  the  Regius  Professor- 
ship he  did  not  read  much  general  literature.  The  theological 
lectures,  which  had  been  discontinued,  were  revived  by  him,  and 
he  was  much  occupied  with  a  course  on  the  Thirty-nine  Articles. 
Also  the  voluntary  theological  examinations  carried  on  by 
liimself  and  the  other  Divinity  Professors  involved  an  immense 
amount  of  close  labour.  The  Regius  Professor  also 
examined'  for  the  Craven,  Pitt,  Bell,  and  other  scholarships,  and 
he  had  a  voluntary  class  for  Hebrew  at  his  own  house  once  a 
week,  during  part  of  his  residence  in  the  University.  Every 
Friday  evening  was  kept  open  for  the  reception  of  under- 
graduates who  had  introductions,  and  after  a  time  those 
gatherings  were  very  large.  But  the  indications  of  his  mental 
powers  are  to  be  traced  not  only  in  liis  pre-Episcopal  career,  but 
also  in  the  application  of  them  to  the  administration  of  his 
diocese,  during  a  period  of  thirty-tliree  years.  Did  he,  then,  in 
that  department  of  w^ork  evince  the  same  ability  which  had 
marked  his  earlier  years?  I  do  not  hesitate  in  the  least 
to  say  that  he  did  so.  Not  that  he  ever  showed  the  least 
inclination  to  bring  his  vast  stores  of  learning  to  the  front* 


198  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

There  was  not  a  particle  of  j^edantry  in  his  manner  or 
conversation.  It  was  impossible  that  a  man  could  be  more 
absolutely  free  from  affectation  or  display.  Even  a  friend 
might  visit  him  ngain  and  again,  and  yet  be  unaware  of 
the  fact   that  he  had  been  conversing  with  a  great  scholar. 

In  the  administration  of  a  densely  populated  diocese,  such 
as  that  which  he  governed,  there  is  ample  room,  and  much 
demand,  for  talents  of  the  first  order.  The  episcopal  rule  is  a 
kind  of  ecclesiastical  monarchy,  limited  by  the  law  of  the  land 
and  the  Church,  in  which  the  ruler  has  no  one  with  whom  to 
share  his  responsibility,  and  is  obliged  to  act  in  hundreds  of 
cases  of  delicacy  and  difficulty  on  his  own  imaided  judgment. 
He  has  to  ordain,  institute,  and  licence  the  clergy,  supervise 
their  moral  conduct,  and  correct  their  errors  and  failings  so  far 
as  his  now  limited  authority  extends.  In  this  wide  sphere 
of  action  and  control,  covering  a  densely  populated  area, 
divided  into  221  benefices  or  livings,  comprising  two 
large  sea-ports,  and  a  long  tract  of  manufacturing  towns, 
and  a  clergy  amounting  now  to  333  priests  and  deacons,  it  would 
not  be  surprising  if  formidable  troubles  had  from  one  cause  or 
another  arisen  in  the  local  Chiu*ch.  Yet,  from  all  exciting 
controversies  or  ecclesiastical  litigations  we  have  been  happily 
kept  free.  To  the  Bishoi^s  good  judgment,  knowledge,  and 
charitable  temper,  and  the  good  sense  and  feeling  of  his  clergy, 
this  happy  deliverance  must  be  mainly  ascribed.  The  inter- 
mixture of  the  Welsh  and  English  languages  added  to  the 
difficulties  of  his  position.  There  are  dioceses  in  England  and 
Wales  which  are  Elysian  fields  in  com])arison  with  that  of 
LlandafF.  It  is  the  only  one  outside  the  ^letropolis,  except 
Durham,  which  has  resembled  a  prosperous  colony  in  the  growth 
of  wealth  and  population  during  the  last  33  years. 

When  the  late  Bishop  was  consecrated  in  1849,  not  a  ton  of 
steam  coal  had  been  exported  from  oiu*  harboiurs.  Millions  of 
that  coal  are  now  annually  exported  from  Newport,  Cardiff,  and 
Swansea.  The  population  in  1849  was  about  400,000  souls.  In 
1883  it  is  nearly  doubled.  In  consequence  of  this  enormous 
increase  of  population  in  the  mining  and  manufacturing  districts 
and  the  seapoi-ts,  the  endowments  of  the  Church  wen*  foimd 
utterly  inadequate  to  maintain  the  additional  clergy  that  were 
required.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  bright  intellect  which  had 
80  shone  forth  at  Cambridge  took  in  the  diocese  the  form  of 
clear  precision  of  knowledge,  common  sense,  and  strong  judg- 
ment successfully  applied  to  current  events.  There  can  be 
no  doubt  that  the  full  powers  of  the  Bisho^/s  mind  were  applied 
without  stint  to  the  peculiar  difficulties  of  the  diocese.  It 
became  necessary  either  to  sup^^lement  the  officers  of  the 
Church,  or  to  let  the  Church  itself  in  some  places  quite  or 
nearJj  disaj)pear.     His  leading  idea  was,  "  by  a  wise  organi- 


THE  LATE  LORD  BLSHOP  OF  LT^NDAFF.       lOD 

sat  ion  of  lay  help,  with  a  courteous  and  gentle  superintendence 
on  the  part  of  tlie  clergy,"  to  find  means  to  meet  the  ecclesi- 
astical necessities  of  the  parish.  "  Even,"  he  said,  "  if  there 
should  be  only  one  true-hearted  Churchman  in  a  parish,  let  that 
one  be  asked  manfully  to  come  forward  and  set  an  example  ;  if 
there  be  two  or  more,  so  much  the  better ;  only  let  them  set  to 
work  and  not  content  themselves  without  some  practical  effort 
to  promote  the  interests  of  the  Church.  The  clergyman  of  the 
parish  they  will  naturally  regard  as  their  associate  and  colleague, 
and  in  various  ways  they  will  be  able  to  render  them  invaluable 
assistance."  These  views  inductnl  him  to  take  the  then  unpre- 
cedented step  of  requesting  the  clergy  and  laity  of  the  diocese 
to  meet  him  at  one  or  other  of  two  meetings  at  Bridgend  or 
Newj)ort,  at  which  the  society  for  promoting  additional  Church 
accommodation  and  pastoral  superintendence,  better  known  as 
the  Jjlandaff  Church  Extension  Society,  was  then  and  there 
established.  "  The  birth  of  the  society  was  hailed  with 
t»nthusiasm ;  it  lived  for  some  time  a  robust  and  healthy  life, 
reanimated  by  ]niblic  meetings  in  1863."  The  fruits  of  that 
early  work  have  been  extraordinary.  The  number  of  chiurches 
built  or  restored  since  the  year  1880  is  about  180,  and  the 
Bishop  was  able  to  say  in  1878  that  "  only  about  half  a  dozen 
churches  could  then  be  reported  to  be  still  in  bad  condition." 
It  may  be  conjectured  that  those  churches  are  by  this  time 
restored.  But  it  was  not  so  much  churches  as  men  that  were 
urgently  wanted.  As  Dean  ^'aughan  said  in  a  recent  speech, 
"  Vou  can  get  a  man  when  you  cannot  build  a  church  ;  man  is 
that  church,  he  brings  the  temple  where  he  goes  ;  if  he  is  a 
true  man  he  builds  as  he  goes,  and  he  very  commonly  leaves  a 
church  behind  him."  The  society  founded  in  1850  acted  also 
on  this  principle,  and  by  offering  small  annual  contributions  to 
meet  local  efforts  has  helped  to  maintain  from  35  to  40 
additional  clergymen  in  the  most  populous  parishes  of  the 
diocese.  In  the  course  of  his  long  episcopate  the  Bishop 
himself  contributed  no  less  than  £3,200  to  the  funds  of  this 
excellent  society.  It  still  exists  and  pros^jers,  and  continues  to 
breast  the  ever-increasing  want  of  more  churches  and  more 
clergymen.  It  may  be  interesting  to  give  two  illustmtions  of 
what  the  Church,  thus  aided  by  the  laity,  has  been  doing  since 
1850.  In  a  recent  speech  at  Cardiff  I^ord  Aberdare  stated  that 
in  that  year  the  population  of  Aberdare  was  14,000,  with  church 
room  for  270  persons,  and  the  congregations  on  the  15th  of 
October  amounted  to  145.  At  present,  taking  the  valley  of 
Aberdare,  including  Mountain  Ash,  the  population  is  42,000y 
with  sittings  for  3,950 ;  and  the  attendants,  carefully  counted, 
2,080.  Again,  the  parish  of  Gelligaer  w^ith  Brithdir  (including 
Pontlottyn)  contained  a  i)opulation  of  3,213,  with  church  room 
for  oOO,  and  the  number  of  persons  attending  on.  t\i^  \o\)[v  qH 


200  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

October  was  41 ;  but  in  1878  the  population  was  9,206,  with 
church  room  for  2,250,  and  there  is  now  an  average  attendance 
of  1,000.  It  would  be  unfair,  however,  to  let  it  be  inferred  that 
the  sense  of  the  deficiencies  of  the  Church  was  awakened  only 
in  1850,  for  much  had  been  done  before  that  date.  This  will  be 
apparent  from  the  fact  that  from  the  year  1840  to  the  year  1877 
no  less  a  sum  than  £3 J 9,000  was  spent  in  building,  enlarging, 
and  restoring  churches  (a)j  of  which  sum  £39,000  had  been 
spent  between  1840  and  1850.  In  the  subsequent  27  years 
£320,000  were  thus  spent.  "No  better  proof,"  said  Lord 
Aberdare,  "could  be  given  of  the  stimulating  effect  of  the 
movement  of  1850,"  originated  by  the  late  Bishop,  with  the 
energetic  assistance  of  the  late  lamented  Dean  Williams.  This 
great  undertaking  alone,  and  the  judgment  by  which  it  was 
directed  and  applied,  is  a  striking  proof  that  great  talents, 
which  in  other  departments  might  have  made  him  eminent  as 
a  lawyer,  or  physician,  or  astronomer,  were  quietly  brought  to 
bear  upon  the  business  of  the  diocese.  The  results  were  great 
and  valuable.  jNIy  belief  is  that  much  of  the  progress  of  the 
Church  is  to  be  ascribed  to  the  judgment,  serenity,  and  business- 
like habits  of  this  (so  to  speak)  ecclesiastical  general, in  directing 
from  head-{|uarters  the  movements  of  clergy  and  laity,  whom  he 
was  able  powerfully  to  influence. 

During  his  tenure  of  the  see,  it  was  his  rare  and  almost 
unexampled  privilege  to  deliver  no  less  than  eleven  charges  at 
intervals  of  three  years.  In  these  careful  compositions  are 
embodied  not  only  counsels  to  his  clergy,  but  his  views  and 
o])inions  on  all  the  principal  subjects  of  discussion  in  the  Church 
which  came  to  the  front  during  thirty  years.  All  these  eleven 
charges,  kindly  given  to  me  by  their  author,  are  now  lying 
before  me.  The  first  was  delivered  in  1851,  and  contains  a 
general  sketch  of  the  condition  of  the  diocese  from  an  eccle- 
siasticid  point  of  view,  as  it  was  bequeathed  to  him  by  his 
predecessor.  In  the  second,  he  refers  to  the  condition  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Llandaff  in  the  following  remarkable  words : — 
"  The  venerable  edifice  in  which  we  are  now  assembled  may  be 
regarded  as  a  type  of  the  Church  throughout  the  diocese — a 
monument  alike  of  the  piety  of  our  forefathers,  and  of  the 
partial  ruin  and  disfigurement  into  which  a  later  generation  had 
permitted  it  to  fall,  but  rising  again  in  its  primitive  beauty  and 
proportions,  and  adapting  itself  to  the  circumstances  of  the  day 
by  a  wiser  arrangement  of  its  interior  space,  with  a  view  to  a 
more  efficient  ministration  of  parochial  and  cathedral  worship." 
And  in  his  charge  of  1869  he  gjive  the  following  description  of 
his  own  installation  in  the  cathedral  in  1850  : — "  The  western 
portion  of  the  building  was  then  a  roofless  ruin.  The  beautiful 
window  in  the  western  fagade  was  dilapidated  and  unglazed. 

faj  Speech  of  Lori  Aberdare  at  Cardiff,  April  17,  1879. 


THE  LATE  LORD  BLSHOP  OF  LLANDAFF.       201 

Thick  branches  of  ivy  had  forced  themselves  into  the  joints  of 
the  noble  columns  and  arches,  which  had  so  long  been  exposed 
to  wind  and  weather.  Beyond  the  three  roofless  bays  stood  an 
Italian  temple,  terminated  at  the  west  by  a  wall,  which  crossed 
the  nave  and  side  aisles  from  north  to  south.  Its  western  front 
exhibited  on  its  summit  two  Grecian  urns.  The  choir  and 
iitall-work  of  paint'ed  deal  were  in  keeping  with  the  style  of  the 
building.  The  demand  of  the  Bishop  to  be  admitted  to  his 
throne  was  responded  to  by  the  Vicar  Choral,  the  only  eccle- 
siastic at  that  time  in  residence,  having  all  the  cathedral, 
parochial,  and  pastoral  duties  of  JjlandafF,  then  including  Canton 
and  Ely,  resting  upon  him.  There  were  at  that  time  no 
residentiary  Canons,  nor  houses  of  any  kind  for  Canons,  resi- 
dentiary or  minor,  nor  even  for  the  Dean.  There  had  been  no 
quire  since  1691,  when  the  Chapter  placed  upon  record  in  their 
Act  Book  that,  '  considering  the  small  revenues  of  this  chm*ch, 
and  the  irregular  management  of  the  quire  by  the  singing  men 
and  boys,  the  quire  singing  should  be  put  down,  in  lieu  of  which 
the  schoolmaster  was  appointed  to  give  out  the  singing  Psalms, 
and  four  ix)unds  a  year  were  allowed  for  doing  it.'  On  the  opening 
of  the  door,  in  reply  to  the  Bishop'ssummons,the  musical  arrange- 
ments of  1691  were  found  to  be  still  in  force,  the  National  School 
master,  heading  the  procession,  gave  out  a  Psalm,  which  was 
sung  by  about  a  dozen  of  his  scholars,  a  bass  viol  being  the  only 
instrument  then  in  possession  of  the  cathedral."  This  account 
of  the  installation  in  1849  seems  to  me  so  curious  and  interesting, 
and  is  now  remembered  by  so  few,  that  I  think  it  worth 
recording  in  these  pages.  It  was  the  happiness  of  the  same 
Bishop,  whose  enthronement  took  place  amidst  the  ruins  of  a 
beautiful  cathedral,  to  see  it  restored  to  even  more  than  its 
original  splendour.  He  took  an  incessant  interest  in  the 
frequent  deliberations  of  the  Cliapter,  which  preceded  the 
operations  of  the  architect.  But  with  that  love  of  justice 
wliich  pervaded  his  whole  life,  he  delighted  to  ascribe  the 
largest  share  in  the  glory  of  this  restoration  to  the  eloquence 
and  energy  of  the  late  Dean  Williams.  The  restoration  is 
certainly  one  of  the  most  successful  and  complete  of  modem 
times.  It  ought  not  to  be  forgotten  that  the  Bishop's  heart 
was  so  much  engaged  in  the  restoration  that  he  took  the 
trouble,  in  1860  to  i)ublish  a  quarto  volume,  entitled  "  Some 
account  of  the  condition  of  the  fabric  of  Llandaff  Cathedral 
from  1575  to  the  present  time."  It  contained  twelve  beautiful 
illustrative  plates,  including  one  of  the  Church  of  St.  Kemi  at 
Kheims,  on  account  of  the  similarity  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
three  lancet  windows,  with  the  intervening  blank  arches,  sur- 
mounted by  an  arcade  with  a  central  light.  This  restoration, 
and  the  foundation  of  the  Church  Extension  Societv,  are  the 
two  most  remarkable  incidents  of  the  Bishop's  teii\Mc^  oi  Wi^  «fc^, 


202  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

It  nuist  have  lK»(»n  to  him,  in  his  old  age,  an  extreme  satfe- 
fju'tioii  to  1)0  iih\o  to  Hay  in  his  last  charge  that  he  observed 
Komf  tokons  "  that  the  (Miurch  is  gaining  a  firmer  hold  upon 
thr  n'?<|Kici  and  afl[\»ctions  of  the  people."  It  must  also  have 
b(M?n  a  (Mnitinual  pleasure  to  him  to  take  part  in  the  beautiful 
Hervi(;es  of  the  restored  Cathednd,  and  to  observe  that,  owing  to 
th(j  restoration  of  th(»s(»  services,  and  partly  his  own  apix)intment 
of  a  distinguished  scholar  and  gn»at  preacher  as  Dean,  the 
(Jatlu'dral  of  Llandaff  now  n»ctMves  crowded  congregations  every 
Sunday.  I  must  now  briefly  allude  to  some  of  the  other 
chart^cs  delivered  between  the  years  18.57  and  1881. 

TImj  third  char^«»,  (hdivenMl  in  18.37,  is  one  of  the  most 
iinjiortaiit  of  tlu*  el<'V(»n,  bt»cause  .in  it  he  was  moved  by  the 
publication  of  a  work  by  the  lati>  Dr. Rowland  Williams  to  state 
to  tin*  <*lcrgy  his  views  of  the  insjiiration  of  Scripture.  The 
following  sentences  may  give  the  reader  a  tolerably  accurate 
ideji  of  his  opinions  on  this  difficult  subject : — "With  regard  to 
the  natun^  of  ins])iration,  what  it  means,  what  was  the  mode  of 
its  operation,  and  h(»w  far  it  extends,  may  not  be  possible,  nor  is 
it  ne((»ss;iry  for  us  strictly  to  detin(*  it.  The  fact,  and  not  the 
mode,  or  exact  limit  at  i(m  of  it,  is  the  im]>ortant  point ;  whether 
the  l>ibl(;  speaks  with  a  Heaven-born  authority  exclusively  its 
r»wn  ;  n(»t  wlietlnrr  we  can  analys(»  and  mark  the  precise  course 
of  the  supernatural  ])roc(»ss  by  which  the  minds  of  the  sacred 
penmen  tirst  rec(»iv(»(l,  and  afterwards  were  ipialified  to  impart, 
religious  truth.  Tpon  ([uestions  of  science  it  may  be  admitted 
that  tiu»  sacred  writ(M's  wen*  not  acfiuainted  with  the  discoveries 
of  modern  times,  for  the  Bible  is  a  revelation,  not  of  scientific, 
but  of  spiritual  truth,  and  had  they  been  gifted  with  a  know- 
ledge beyond  their  age;  th(?ir  language  would  not  have  been 
understood  by  thos(»  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  With  regard 
to  hi>torical  facts  and  dates,  it  may  be  that  Almighty  God,  who 
does  not;  appear  to  havt^  adopt(Ml  a  system  of  optimism  in  the 
works  of  nature,  may  not  hav(»  thought  fit  so  to  over-nile  the 
mental  faculties  of  tlie  writer  as  to  produce  a  forced  and  absolute 
perfection  in  the  record.  Or  it  may  be  that,  in  copying  these 
ancient  writings  before  the  invention  of  printing,  occasional 
errors,  which  nothing  but  anotlu»r,  and  that  an  oft-repeated, 
miracle  could  have  prevented,  may  have  taken  place.  The 
imperfection  inherent  in  everything  human,  and  from  which 
language  can  pretend  to  no  exemption,  may  have  prevented  the 
phras(»ology  of  ins])iration  itself  from  being  an  adecpiate  re])re- 
sentative  of  the  lofty  conce])tions  and  mysterious  truths  which 
Divine  Wisdom  has  thought  proper  to  a  certain  extent  to  com- 
municate to  mankind.  Why  must  we  reduce  inspiration 
within  the  grasp  of  a  rigid  and  inflexible  system,  and  Avhy,  if 
its  exact  limits  or  nature  cannot  be  demonstrated,  must  we  refuse 
to  admit  that  Apostles  and  Prophets  had,  as  they  claim  to  have. 


THE  LATE  LORD  BLSHOP  OF  LLANDAFF.       203 

a  gift  peculiarly  their  own  ?  Our  own  Church,  acting  with  her 
usual  wisdom  and  moderation,  has  not  ytut  forth  any  dogmatical 
statement  in  respect  to  it.  We  are  not,  therefore,  tied  to  any 
precise  definition,  and  so  long  as  our  opinions  do  not  interfere 
with  the  supreme  and  paramount  authority  of  this  sacred 
tribunal,  we  are  responsible  only  to  the  Searcher  of  Hearts  for 
those  we  embrace." 

In  the  year  1863  the  Bishop  was  again  induced  by  the  publi- 
cation of  a  work  on  the  Pentateuch,  by  Bishop  Colenso,  to  print 
two  letters  (making  together  a  treatise  of  about  120  pages)  to 
the  clergy  on  the  subject  of  that  work.  As  they  bear  on  the 
subject  of  inspiration,  and  so  far  are  connected  with  the  third 
charge,  it  will  be  convenient  to  notice  them  in  this  place.  He 
thought  that  Bishop  Colenso's  criticisms  were  not  based  upon  a 
solid  foundation,  and  that  "  the  infidel  would  not  find  in  them 
fresh  matter  for  triumph  nor  the  Christian  occasion  for  dis- 
quietude." As  respects  the  particular  difficulties  which  were 
specified  by  Dr.  Colenso,  Bishop  Ollivant  remarked  that  it 
might  be  conceded,  without  any  essential  principle  being 
involved  in  the  concession,  that  some  in  the  present  state  of  our 
knowledge  are  not  capable  of  being  entirely  removed.  "  Of  the 
greater  portion  of  them,  if  not  of  all,  a  i)robable  solution  can  be 
proposed.  Of  not  a  few  it  may  be  said  that  when  the  luhole  case 
is  considered  they  constitute,  in  fact,  no  difficulty  at  all.  The 
acknowledged  facts  of  .lewish  history  and  the  well-known 
customs  of  the  Jewish  people  can  be  accounted  for  upon  no 
other  supposition  than  the  substantial  truth  of  the  Pentateuch. 
It  details  most  minutely  the  political  laws  by  which  they  were 
to  be  governed,  and  the  religious  institutions  they  were  to 
observe  as  the  condition  of  retaining  the  Divine  favour.  The 
very  calamities  of  this  wonderful  people  are  a  convincing  proof 
of  the  historical  character  of  the  lx)ok  by  which  those  calamities 
are  foretold.  The  language  of  the  Pentateuch  is  another  strong 
reason  for  believing  in  its  unity  and  the  rightfulness  of  its  claim 
to  be  considered  an  historical  record.  As  the  portions  of  the 
Old  Testament  which  ate  written  in  Chaldee  attest,  in  agiee- 
ment  with  the  narrative,  the  reality  of  the  Babylonian  captivity ; 
and  as  the  Latinisms  of  the  Greek  Testament  bear  testimony 
to  the  influence  of  Eome  upon  the  East,  just  so  do  the  Egyi)tian 
words  which  occiu:  towards  the  close  of  the  Book  of  Grenesia 
fell  in  with  the  circumstances  of  the  Jews  at  that  period  of  theii* 
history.  Internal  evidence  also  demonstrates  that  the  author- 
ship of  that  book  may  with  entire  confidence  be  ascribed  to  him 
whose  name  it  bears.  It  is,  however,  in  the  declarations  of  our 
Lord  and  His  Apostles,  and  the  use  that  is  made  of  this  portion 
of  the  Old  Testament  in  the  pages  of  the  New,  that  as  Christians 
we  find  an  immovable  basis  of  moral  evidence  ui)on  which  ta 
build  our  confidence  in  it  as  a  real  history.     We  accept  the 


204  NOTABLE  SEEN  OF  WALES. 

4locumont,  not  because  it  is  absolutely  free  from  difficulty,  but 
b(»cau8e  it  comes  to  us  so  accredited.  And  there  is  another 
ininciplo  of  immense  importance  to  which  Dr.  Colenso  appears 
t(i  hjiv(»  shut  his  eyes,  namely,  that  the  book  is  avowedly  the 
account  of  a  supernatural  deliverance  of  the  Jews.  He 
^liscussoH  and  decides  everything  as  if  lie  were  commenting  upon 
ev(»nfH  supposed  to  have  occurred  under  tlie  ordinary  course  of 
Divine  Providence/*  And  then  Bishop  Ollivant  expresses  his 
conchision,  e<|ually  applicable  to  the  (question  of  inspiration 
f((^nerally  and  the  Pentateuch  in  jmrticular,  in  the  following 
words:  "The  fact  is,  that  the  difficulties  which  are  objected 
<<),  if  all  the  circumstanccvs  are  fairly  considered,  are  nothing 
nion*  than  as  tlu»  small  dust  of  the  balance  when  weighed 
against  tin*  ])rep<)nderating  moral  evidence  upon  which  we 
rrcoivt*  th(»  P(»ntateuch  as  a  part  of  Holy  Scripture.  And  herein, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  lies  the  capital  error  of  the  Bishop's 
l)(M»k;* 

T1m»  principal  topic  of  the  fourth  charge  is  the  Revision  of 
i  he  liitur^'v.  Tho  discussion  of  the  subject  is  most  instructive; 
hut.  I  must  he  content  to  (juote  the  substance  of  his  advice,  as 
\\r  Humm«'d  it  up  iu^  tlu*  following  words: — "Is  it  not  the  jwirt 
of  wisdom  undiT  such  circumstances  to  bear  the  ills  of  which 
Honic  WW  disposed  to  complain,  rather  than,  by  submitting  our 
ditVcrcnccs  to  a  not  altogether  friendly,  nor  well-(|ualitied,  arbi- 
trator, to  involv(»  ourselves  in  the  possibility  of  far  greater  evils 
which  may  lu»  hidden  from  our  view?  It  is  not  that  we  shut 
our  eyes  to  the  existence  of  imi)erfection,  but  that  we  know  not 
how  to  remoV(»  the  few  bhMuishes  that  may  be  detected  by  a 
critical  ey<^  or  a  scrupulous  conscience,  without  exposing  our- 
selves to  tin*  risk  of  far  greater  mischief." 

Thr.  tifth  charge  contains  no  treatise  on  any  special  subject, 
but,  in  the  sixth  there  is  an  elaborate  discussion  of  the  subjects 
<!(»nnected  with  tlu»  ritual  and  the  usages  of  the  Chm*ch, 
and  th(^  <'ourts  which  exercise  jurisdiction  over  this  class  of 
cont  rov(;rsii's.  This  charirc*  also  contiiins  an  examination 
of  th(!  doctrine?  of  the  Kuchmstic  rite.  In  the  appendix 
may  \u*  found  a  vast  store  of  theological  learning,  excluded 
fn»m  the  text.,  but  jmblished  there  in  support  of  the  ad\'ice 
given  to  tlui  clergy.  In  the  seventh  he  examines  the 
use  in  our  Church  of  the  Athanasian  Creed.  His  judg- 
ment as  to  the  comjndsory  use  of  this  creed  is  so  interest- 
ing to  laym(»n  that  I  cannot  but  cull  a  few  sentences  which 
will  give  a  fair  notion  of  his  views.  Those  who  adhere 
to  its  use  contend  that  the  damnatory  clauses,  from  which  so 
many  shrink,  do  not  extend  beyond  the  seven  or  eight  clauses 
which  express  the  Catholic  doctrine  of  the  Trhiity,  to  the 
illustrations  or  expansions  or  explanations  which  follow.  But 
the  Bishop  says  the  Chmrcli  has  never  put  this  limited  inter- 


THE  LATE  LOKD  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF.       20i> 

pre  tat  ion  upon  those  words,  "  and  surely  before  we  insist  on 
these  clauses  being  said  or  sung  by  ministers  and  people,  we 
ought  to  be  of  one  mind  as  to  what  they  mean.  Does  the 
net  enclose  not  only  the  scoffer  at  the  fundamental  doctrine, 
but  those  also  who  stumble  at  the  conclusions  which 
theological  controversy — with  very  good  reason  it  may  be 
said — has  added  to  the  simple  expression  of  the  truth  ?  "  He 
shows  that  if  it  be  as  old  as  the  Fifth  Century,  it  was  not  till 
about  the  Ninth  Century  that  it  began  to  be  quoted  for 
dogmatic  purjjoses,  and  that  for  a  length  of  time  the  only  use 
to  which  it  was  applied  was  the  private  instruction  of  the 
clergy.  In  the  Chmch  of  Kome  it  is  recited  on  certain  days, 
but  the  people  take  no  part-  in  the  recitation,  and  though  the 
Greek  Church  adopts  the  creed,  she  does  not  enforce  the  use  of 
it  in  her  worship.  Tlie  Bishop  is  of  opinion  that  the  particular 
use  we  of  the  Church  of  England  make  of  it  is  probably 
unique.  As  to  the  recejjtion  of  the  creed  he  says  not  an  jid verse 
word,  but  asks  whether  it  would  not  l)e  the  part  of  wisdom  and 
charity  to  modify  in  some  way  the  use  of  this  form,  and  then 
he  concludes  with  this  solemn  reflection: — "We  may  duly 
appreciate  these  expansions  as  negations  of  heretical  opinions, 
ever  lurking  in  the  depths  of  the  human  heart,  which,  for  all 
we  know,  may  again  burst  forth  and  need  to  be  met  with  this 
concurrent  testimony  of  the  Universal  Church.  But  even 
then,  where  is.  our  authority  for  pronouncing  everlasting 
perdition  ujx)n  those  who  do  keep  whole  and  undefiled  the 
revealed  fact  that  there  is  one  God  in  Trinity  and  Trinity  in 
Unity,  and  yet  prefer  to  stand  upon  the  shore  of  this  boundless 
ocean,  adoring  Him  who  is  infinite  and  unsearchable,  i*ather 
than  cast  their  plummet  into  the  abyss,  in  the  vain  hope  of 
obtaining  clearer  and  more  definite  conceptions  of  what  must 
ever  remain  an  impenetrable  mystery  ?  " 

It  would  be  a  useful  and  a  pleasant  task  to  bring  out  the 
opinions  expressed  in  the  remainder  of  these  charges,  but  the 
limits  of  this  article  forbid  the  execution  of  that  task.  In 
them  may  be  found  his  deliberate  oi)inions  on  a  great 
variety  of  subjects,  such  as  the  supposed  prevalent  tendency 
to  unbelief  and  the  need  of  theological  learning ;  intem- 
perance ;  Lenten  and  other  missions ;  the  Judicial  Committee 
and  its  jurisdiction ;  on  Education,  and  on  the  dwellings  of  the 
working  classes.  I  must  now  conclude  with  some  personal 
reminiscences  of  his  life  and  character.  It  will  be  interesting 
to  the  reader  to  hear  the  estimate  formed  by  so  eminent 
a  man  as  the  Bishop  of  Ix)ndon  of  the  influence  of  Bishop 
Ollivant  in  Convocation  and  other  Church  discussions.  He 
writes,  "  He  was  not  an  orator,  and  his  delivery  was 
rather  heavy,  but  his  matter  was  well  arranged  and  his 
sentences    were    complete,    and    their    meaning    clear    and 


206  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

precise.  He  was  a  very  independent  thinker,  and  of  all  men  I 
have  known  one  of  the  most  free  from  any  sectional  or  party  bias. 
This,  perhaps,  weakened  liis  practical  power  in  debate.  He 
saw  both  sides  of  the  question  and  the  feeble  points  of  both, 
and  as  he  probably  did  not  altogether  agree  with  either,  his 
judgment  had  not,  perhaps,  so  much  effect  on  the  decision  as 
a  less  weighty  opinion  thrown  more  boldly  into  the  scale.  He 
was  a  very  good  and  a  very  able  man,  and  I  had  learnt  to  love 
as  well  as  to  respect  him." 

The  Bishop,  in  1870,  was  nominated  to  be  one  of  the 
Company  for  the  Revision  of  the  Old  Testament.  In  con- 
sequence of  increasing  deafness,  he  did  not  for  some  years  past 
attend  the  meetings,  but  his  contributions  to  that  important  work 
were  certainly  of  great  value.  He  brought  to  bear  upon  it  a 
practice  of  reading  portions  of  the  Scriptures  every  day  in 
Hebrew  and  Greek  for  at  least  sixty  years,  and  his  knowledge 
of  Syriac  and  Arabic,  though  not  deep,  must  have  helped  him 
to  throw  light  upon  the  Hebrew  work.  With  reference  to  the 
part  taken  by  the  Bishop  in  the  Revision  of  the  Old  Testament, 
Mr.  W.  Aldis  Wright,  a  member  of  the  Company,  thus  writes : — 
*'  The  late  Bishop  of  LlandafF  took  from  the  outset  a  very 
marked  interest  in  the  Revision  of  the  Authorised  Version.  He 
presided  at  the  first  meeting  of  the  Old  Testament  Company, 
on  the  30th  June,  1870,  and  for  some  time  was  most  regular  in 
his  attendance.  At  the  beginning  of  1875,  however,  finding  that 
his  deafness  increased,  and  prevented  him  from  taking  part  in 
the  discussions  with  comfort  and  satisfaction  to  himself,  he  sent 
in  his  resignation,  but  the  Company  by  a  special  resolution 
requested  him  to  remain  as  a  corresponding  member,  although 
he  was  unable  to  attend  the  meetings,  and  in  this  capacity  to 
favour  the  Company  with  his  suggestions  in  writing.  This  he 
did  for  some  time,  until  he  found  that  his  advanced  age  and  the 
cares  of  liis  diocese  prevented  him  from  giving  much  attention 
to  the  work  of  revision,  and  for  a  certain  period  his  contributions 
ceased.  But  within  the  last  year  or  two  they  were  renewed, 
and  he  regularly  sent  us  his  notes  for  the  second  revision  as 
late  as  the  last  meeting  in  last  year,  which  was  held  in 
November.  There  was  no  member  of  the  Company  who 
commanded  more  than  the  Bishop  of  Llandafif  the  respect  and 
esteem  of  his  fellow  workers.  Everything  which  he  proposed 
was  distinguished  by  that  clear  good  sense  which  was 
characteristic  of  him.  Although  conservative,  he  was  not  averse 
to  change,  preferring  truth  even  with  novelty  to  error  consecrated 
by  age.  It  was  a  constant  source  of  astonishment  to  me  that 
with  the  burden  of  more  than  fourscore  years  and  the  charge  of 
a  diocese  he  was  able  to  send  us  such  copious  and  yet  concise 
and  beautifully-written  notes  as  he  did  to  the  last." 

Recurring  to  personal  reminiscences  it  was  always  evident 


THE  LATE  LORD  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF.       207 

that  nature  had  not  gifted  the  Bishop  with  high  spirits,  or  the 
faculty  of  original  wit,  but  he  had  by  constitution  a  cheerful 
serenity  of  temper,  and  though  not  himself  witty,  he  under- 
stood the  humorous  as  well  as  the  serious  side  of  things. 
Indeed,  there  were  laid  up  in  his  memory  many  good  stories, 
which  he  told  with  relish,  and  when  a  good  story  was  told  to 
him  he  always  enjoyed  it  in  his  own  quiet  way.  To  children 
his  manner  was  invariably  kind  and  considerate.  The 
8ub-Kector  of  Lincoln  College  thus  recalls  the  Bishop's  treat- 
ment of  him  when  he  was  a  boy  : — "  The  Bishop  did  not  go  out 
of  his  way  to  attract  the  attention  of  children,  but  there  was 
something  so  kind  in  his  grave  and  dignified  manner  that  we 
were  never  afraid  of  him,  and  felt  for  him  that  sober  and  almost 
affectionate  respect  that  would  not  have  been  inspired  by  a  man 
who  lowered  his  dignity  to  please  us.  My  brother  and  myself 
spent  a  fortnight  at  his  house  during  a  summer  holidays  of  our 
early  school  life,  and  neither  of  us  will  ever  forget  his  kindly 
manner  to  us,  and  the  grave  humour  of  his  occasional  comments 
on  our  boyish  practices.  I  remember,  for  example,  that  we  were 
much  occupied  at  that  time  with  fishing  expeditions  to  a  large 
pond  not  far  from  Llandaff,  and  that  we  usually  came  home  in 
the  evening  with  a  good  show  of  fish.  The  evening  before  the 
day  on  which  we  were  to  go  back  to  school,  the  Bishoi)  said 
*  Good  night,'  and  added  ^  Ah,  the  fish  will  have  a  jubilee 
to-morrow  I '  The  allusion  meant  much  more  for  the  great 
Hebrew  scholar  than  I  dreamt  of  then,  but  for  some  reason  the 
words  fastened  themselves  in  my  memory,  and  have  become 
for  ever  associated  with  the  memories  of  those  sunny  days." 

It  would  not  be  right  to  omit  from  these  reminiscences  an 
allusion  to  the  large  hospitality  which  was  exercised  at  Bishop's 
Court.  It  was  evidently  part  of  his  system  to  open  his  doors 
widely,  and  to  men  of  all  professions.  He  was  hospitable  to  the 
clergy,  no  matter  what  their  party  or  politics  might  be.  The 
judges,  the  barristers,  the  antiquarians,  and  his  neighbours  all 
around  were  welcomed  by  the  Bishop  and  Jlrs.  OUivant  in  that 
hospitable  house.  On  either  side  of  the  front  door  were  carved 
the  words  "Pax  intrantibus,"  "  Salus  exeuntibus,"  and  it  was  the 
experience  of  the  guests  that  the  time  there  spent  was  both 
pleasant  and  improving. 

It  is  interesting  to  know  whether  so  learned  a  Bishop,  with 
his  hands  full  of  corresi)ondence,  and  constantly  occupied  with 
the  business  of  confirmations,  consecrations,  re-openings  of 
churches,  public  meetings,  revision  of  the  Old  Testament, 
sermons,  and  the  preparation  for  them,  found  it  necessary  to 
resort  to  any  particular  recreation  to  alleviate  the  wear  and  tear 
of  work.  Bishop  Wilberforce  loved  riding  and  billiards  as 
diversions,  and  I  think  that  two  living  Bisnops  refresh  them- 
selves sometimes  with   fishing.    But  BisYiop  0\\i\&u\!^  ^\^i 


208  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

recreation  was  his  daily  walk,  and  the  rest  which  comes  from 
turning  to  some  reading  quite  foreign  to  the  work  of  the  day. 
He  always  loi^keil  through  the  TimeSy  wliich  was  brought  to  the 
house  in  the  aftemixni.  He  was  not  a  reader  of  English  novels, 
like  his  great  eolleague  Bishop  Thirlwall,  but  he  delighted  in 
the  charniin*;  tales  of  Krokmann-Chatrian,  and  the  whole  of  their 
works  were  rangtnl  on  a  shelf  of  his  library.  At  one  time,  I 
recollect  that  he  amust*d  himself  with  the  study  of  spectrum 
analysis,  but  how  far  or  how  loniij  he  pursued  it  1  am  unable  to 
siiy.  A  few  years  agi">  he  taught  himself  Italian  sufficiently  to 
n»ad  with  pleasure  st»veral  i>f  the  bt^st  works  of  modem  light 
liten\ture  in  that  language.  He  also  knew  German,  but  his 
reading  in  that  language  was  chiefly  historical  or  theological 
criticism.  Almost  everv  vear  he  made  a  short  tour,  either  on 
the  (\nitinent  or  in  some  ]Kirt  of  our  own  country,  and  this,  I 
apprchiMul,  was  the  recreation  which  enabled  him  to  sustain  so 
much  mental  work  during  the  other  eleven  months  of  the  year. 

Towanls  the  close  of  his  life  some  information  reached  him  of 
a  i>ri\ate  movement  with  respect  to  some  kind  of  gift  to  be 
jiresented  to  him  as  a  mark  of  esteem  and  affection,  but  the 
promot(M*s  discovtM'tnl  th;it  at  that  time  such  a  ])roceeding  would 
be  distasteful  to  him.  Scnm  afterwards  he  had  been  unusually 
luiwell  and  was  verv  doubtful  as  to  the  result.  He  desired 
liis  daughter  to  fetch  Tacitus,  and  hi»  tnmslated  to  her  the  38th 
(•hai)ter  of  the  4th  Hook  of  the  An}ialf<^  of  which  he  said  he  had 
been  reminded,  ;md  wliich  expressed  his  own  feelings  as  to  the 
movement  abovt*  referri'd  to.  A  deputation  from  Spain  had 
waited  up^m  TilHTius  to  propose  to  him  tlie  erection  of  a 
temjile  in  his  honour.  In  rejily  he  expressed  his  sentiments 
as  follows  : — "Kaised  to  a  trying  pri'-eminence,  if  I  can  sustain 
th(i  arduous  diameter  im]»osed  on  me  the  measme  of  my 
hai)pine8S  is  full ;  should  future  ages  pronoimce  me  not  unworthy 
of  my  ])redecessors,  should  they  think  me  vigilant  for  the  public 
good,  in  danger  firm,  and  for  the  general  interest  ready  ti> 
encounter  personal  animosity,  that  character  will  be  the  bright 
reward  of  all  my  labours.  Those  are  the  temples  which  I  wish 
to  raise.  They  are  the  tniest  temples,  for  they  rest  on  the 
heart.  It  is  there  that  I  would  be  worshipped,  in  the  esteem 
and  affections  of  men  ;  piles  of  stone  and  marble  structures  are 
mere  charnel-houses  that  moulder  into  ruin.  It  is  my  pi-ayer 
that  to  the  end  of  my  life  I  may  be  granted  the  blessing  of  an 
undisturbed,  a  clear,  a  collected  mind,  with  a  just  sense  of  laws^ 
human  and  Divine.  Of  mankind  I  request  that  when  I  am  no 
more,  they  will  do  justice  to  my  memory,  and  with  kind 
acknowledgments  record  my  name  and  the  actions  of  my  life.'^ 
In  these  sentiments,  Tacitus  adds,  he  continued  ever  after. 

The  presentation  to  the  Bishop  of  the  fine  portrait  by  Mr. 
Ouless,  R.A.,  must  be  fresh  in  the  recollections  of  our  readers. 


THE  LATE  LOUD  BISHOP  OF  LLAXDAFF.       209 

It  was  impossible,  notwithstanding  the  sympathy  he  felt  with 
these  sentiments  of  the  Koman,  to  decline  an  offering  of  respect 
and  affection  from  hundreds  of  the  leading  Churchmen  in  his 
diocese,  and  he  accepted  it  in  a  speech  of  great  vigour  and 
felicity  of  language.  The  exei-tion,  however,  was  too  great;  his 
constitutional  strength  gave  way,  and  his  decease  followed  the 
l)resentation  within  seventeen  days. 

The  Bi8hoi)'s  daily  habits  of  life  were  so  regular  and  simple 
that  it  is  easy  to  describe  them.  He  always  rose  at  seven  o'clock, 
and  his  regular  practice  was  to  read  some  part  of  his  Hebrew 
Bible,  and  then  attend  the  family  prayers  in  the  chapel  before 
breakfast.  The  daily  post  bag  arrived  before  that  meal,  with  a 
heavy  average  of  letters  for  him.  To  these  he  used  to  give  his 
attention  immediately  after  breakfast,  and  continue  to  write 
until  all  were  answered.  His  handwriting  was  perfect,  and  quite 
as  legible  as  ordinary  printed  matter.  After  the  revision  of  the 
Old  Testament  began,  he  substituted  his  work  in  that  depart- 
ment for  letter- writing  as  the  first  thing  after  breakfast,  and 
afterwards  attended  to  correspondence.  For  many  years  he  had 
no  assistance  whatever,  but  of  late  the  Kev.  Minor  Canon 
Fishboume  came  to  him  daily  for  about  two  hours  to  help  him 
in  writing  letters  or  copying  drafts  of  any  literary  work  that 
might  be  in  hand.  Then,  having  finished  his  morning's  work 
on  revision  and  correspondence,  he  would  take  up  the  composition 
of  any  pamphlet,  charge  or  sermon  on  which  he  happened  to  be 
engaged.  This  he  would  sometimes  resume  in  the  afternoon 
also,  and  postpone  his  daily  walk  till  quite  late,  so  anxious  was 
he  to  write  in  daylight,  and  to  disburden  his  mind  of  any 
matters  weighing  ui)on  it.  He  would  occasionally  go  back  to 
his  desk  till  the  dinner  hour  at  seven  or  half-past  seven,  provided 
he  had  had  a  short  walk  and  a  little  rest  on  his  sofa.  In  fact 
the  Bishop's  life  is  a  proof  that  continuous  mental  laboiu*  may 
be  kept  up  to  eighty-four  without  injury  to  mind  or  body,  if  the 
lowers  are  not  excessively  strained,  the  habits  seldom  inteiTupted, 
a,nd  the  sleep  not  impaired.  When  much  pressed,  however,  he 
would  again  return  to  his  library  after  the  eight  o'clock  cup  of 
tea,  and  work  till  ten,  when  the  time  for  a  short  service  in  the 
chapel  brought  him  down.  This  renewed  evening  work  was  in 
later  years  the  exception,  not  the  rule.  In  his  own  fine  library 
he  was  an  expert,  and  knew  how  and  where  to  place  his  hand 
ujion  any  volume  containing  the  required  information.  He 
lived  much  in  that  library,  which  was  his  intellectual  workshop, 
in  which  he  patiently  elaborated  all  the  literary  work  which 
the  administration  of  the  diocese  might  demand.  The  habits  of 
methodical  study  acquired  at  Cambridge  were  never  lost.  It 
wag  sometimes  truly  surprising  to  discover  how  knowledge  had 
been  quietly  deposited,  I  may  say,  metaphorically,  pigeon-holed 
in  that  capacious  brain,  and  how  he  could  bring  it  forth  on 

o 


210  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

demand  without  hesitation  or  confusion.  Or  if  it  was  not 
ready  there,  he  wouhl  rise  from  his  chair,  go  to  the  well-stored 
book  cases,  take  down  a  vohime  in  which  he  knew  the  needed 
matters  would  be  found,  wipe  a  little  dust  from  the  upper 
surface  and  rapidly  make  the  reference.  In  liis  early  days  he 
found  time  to  attend  to  the  education  of  his  children,  and 
one  of  them  now  relates  how  she  read  KoUin's  history  vith 
him,  and  how  after  diiiner  he  would  arrange  the  glasses  to 
represent  the  battles  of  the  (if reeks  and  Persians.  It  does 
not  appear,  liowever,  that  he  read  much  general  literature  at 
( Cambridge  or  afterwards. 

That  h(»  had  preserved  the  brightness  and  keenness  of  his 
Cireek  scholarship  was  made  apparent  by  an  elaborate  and 
refined  criticism  of  tlu*  translation  of  a  Greek  phrase  by  the 
authors  of  the  Kevised  Version.  He  was  of  opinion  that  it 
modified  a  certain  doctrine  which  he  himself  helcl  strongly,  and 
t  hat  t  h(»  alteration  so  made  was  not  well  founded.  The  criticism 
was  ])rinted  in  the  Guardian  newspaper  last  year,  and  is  only 
mentioned  now  as  evidence  of  the  extraordinary  energy  and 
earnestness  of  a  much-occupied  Bishop  at  the  age  of  eighty-two. 
Nor  was  this  his  last  voluntary  work,  for  only  in  October,  1882, 
h(^  l^rinted  a  long  article  on  the  social  and  religious  condition 
of  WaU's  in  the  Church  Quarterly  Revieic,  His  object  was  to 
njbut  the  evidence  wliich  had  been  given  to  the  Education 
Commissioners  and  which  he  considered  was  us(»d  in  favour  of 
a  Hchemo  of  government  for  Welsh  grammar  schools  at  variance 
with  tlu^  principh»s  upon  which  they  had  hitherto  been 
conducted. 

Thelast  sermon  preached  by  the  Bishop  was  at  there-opening, 
after  restoration,  of  St.  ^hiry's  Church,  Monmouth,  on  the  2nd 
of  November  last.  This  restoration,  and  that  of  St.  Mary's, 
at  Abergavenny,  were  considered  by  him  as  the  crowning 
events  of  his  ei)iscopate,  as  regards  the  external  condition  of 
the  churches  of  the  diocese.  He  had  undertaken  to  preach  at 
the  opening  of  St.  :\Iary's,  Abergavenny,  on  the  14th  of 
December,  but  was  compelled  by  increasing  weakness  to  ask  to 
be  released  from  that  engagement. 

I  must  now  bring  this  sketch  to  a  close.  I  am  only  too  well 
aware  of  its  defects.  It  may  be  remarked  that  I  have  not 
dwelt  much  on  the  deep  personal  piety  of  the  late  Bisho]),  but 
the  members  of  the  Church  in  his  diocese  need  no  reminder  that 
he  was  a  most  earnest  and  sincere  Christian.  It  was  impossible 
to  come  in  contact  with  him  often  without  gaining  the  firm 
belief  that  he  was  a  most  excellent  and  holy  man. 

As  a  layman,  I  have  rather  sought  to  show  that  he  was  not 
merely  an  industrious  scholar  and  divine,  but  a  man  of  great 
intellectual  power.  I  think  he  hardly  had  full  credit  for  the 
fine  natural  talents  he  really  possessed.     If  that  was  so,  I 


THE  LATE  LOKD  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF.       211 

ascribe  the  circumstance  partly  to  his  habitual  and  constitutional 
abstention  from  every  form  of  display,  partly  to  a  want  of 
oratorical  power,  and  partly  to  his  forcing  all  those  great  talents 
to  run  in  the  groove  of  diocesan  administration.  Let  us  all 
remember  that  he  was  emphatically  a  man  of  peace  and  forgive- 
ness. No  vindictive  or  uncharitable  expression  came  from  his 
lips,  and  as  he  taught  men  to  be  willing  to  forgive,  so  he  acted. 
Towards  the  Nonconformist  bodies  he  always  spoke  and  wrote 
kindly.  In  one  of  the  charges  he  said,  "  It  is  my  wish  to  speak 
of  them  with  Christian  charity  and  becoming  respect.  Without 
concealing  my  convictions  that  divisions,  whether  within  the 
bosom  of  the  Church,  or  leading  to  secession  from  her  pale,  are 
contrary  to  the  princii)les  of  the  Gospel,  I  cannot  entertain  a 
doubt  that  the  Dissent  of  South  Wales  originated  in  no  small 
measure  in  the  desire  for  more  effective  and  zealous  ministrations 
than  the  Church,  during  a  portion  of  the  last  century,  seemed 
likely  to  afford." 

It    may    possibly   be  remarked   by  some   readers  that  this 
sketch  is  too  laudatory  and  that  the  shades  as  well  as  lights  are 
needed  for  a  truthful  portrait.     Shades,  no  doubt,  there  must 
have  been,  for  no  man  is  free  from  them.     He  alluded   to   his 
own  failings  in   his  last  charge  and   prayed  that  they  might 
not  be  imputed  to  him.     I  cannot  point  them  out,  for  I  never 
knew   them.      But   those   who  knew   him  best   will   concede 
that  I  have  rather  praised  him  too  little  than  too  much,  for  I 
have  not  said  enough  of  that   which  was   in  truth  his   chief 
attraction  ;  I  mean  the  simple,  earnest,  unaffected  goodness  of 
the  man ;  goodness  which  was  instinctively  felt  by  all  who  came 
in  contact  with  him,  and  was  made  apparent,  not  by  his  words, 
but  by  his  life.     Not  by  his  words,  for  most  ready  as  he  always 
was  to  recognise  all  good  in  others,  no  man,  I   think,  had  ever 
a  more   humble   estimate   of  self.     I  quote   the  last  beautiful 
6entence  of  the  last  charge  he  delivered  at  the  age  of  eighty- 
three,    well-knowing    it    would     be     the     last: — "He     who 
now  addresses  you  is   conscious   how  greatly  he   needs  your 
prayers,  that  the  sins  and  infirmities  of  a  long  life  may  not 
be  imputed  to  him,  but  be  graciously  pardoned,  and  that  the 
few  short  days  that  remain  may  be  more  animated  by  those 
principles  which  in  these   addresses   he    has   endeavoured   to 
impress  upon  you.'* 

Jno.  Coke  Fowler 


O  2 


OF    HIGH     DEGREE. 


Kv  Charles  Gibbox,  Arrnos  of  •'*  Robin  Gray,"  "A  Heart's 
Problem/'  "In  Honocr  BorxD,"'  -'liiEEN  of  the  Meadow,'* 

**The  BKAE.S  (iF  Yarrow,"  &c.,  ie. 


rilAITER    LI.— For   and   Against. 

So  the  Tni?4t  harl  rleared  away,  and  where  he  had  expected  to 
-*•*•  a  frontfnted  home  and  a  happy  future  he  saw  df stmction 
and  mirf^ry. 

He  had  put  his  fate  to  the  touch,  Jind  the  result  was  the  rain 
of  all  hirf  hoj>e?i.  He  understood  lier:  he  could  even  to  some 
extf^nt  understand  Stephen,  although  at  the  same  time  he  felt 
bitterly  t^jwards  him,  as  one  who  was  playing  the  part  of  dc^  in 
the  manger.  Humphrey  Dottridge,  however,  was  one  who  had 
made  hi.**  successes  by  his  aptitude  for  recognising  the  moment 
of  failure,  and  thereby  turning  the  worst  to  the  best  account 
that  was  prjsaible  under  the  circumstances. 

In  this  case  he  could  not  see  any  best  to  make  of  it,  for  lie  at 
once  thought  of  Dahlia's  ^lersistent  declaration  that  Ruth  would 
refuse  him  because  she  loved  Stei>hen :  and,  sure  enough,  that 
was  the  reason  given — she  could  not  accept  him,  because  that 
would  be  the  proof  of  her  falsehood.  Then,  when  he  told 
Dahlia,  how  was  he  to  prevent  her  from  some  >vild  act  which 
might  land  them  in  additional  trouble? 

There  was  another  feeling  in  this  matter  which  claimed 
attention — that  of  self-respect ;  and  it  asserted  itself  even  more 
strongly  than  he  would  have  wished  it  to  have  done. 

"  I  cannot  attempt  to  force  you  from  that  i)osition,  Ruth,**  he 
said,  at  length,  when  he  had  partly  recovered  from  the  suq>rise 
and  chagrin  of  his  rejection  ;  "  but  it  seems  to  me  that  Meredith 
has  no  right  to  command  you  now,  and  that  you  are  doing 
wrong — wrong  even  on  his  account — in  submitting  to  him." 

"  Are  you  going  to  scold  ?  .  .  .  You  cannot  do  it  half 
so  fiercely,  so  bitterly  as  I  have  done  it  to  myself.  I  see  the 
folly  of  it  all,  and  cannot  help  myself.  Of  course  he  has  no 
right  to  command  me— perhaps  I  ought  to  be  angry  with  him. 
But  I  did  do  a  cruel,  a  wicked  thing  in  deserting  him — I  do 


OF  HICfH  DEGREE.  21:^ 

want  him  to  believe  that  I  cared  for  him — and  this  is  the  proof 
he  demands  :  that  I  shall  cheat  you  of  the  prize — poor  prize — 
for  which  you  strive." 

The  suppressed  pas^^ion  of  the  woman  made  her  cry  the 
sharper  and  more  bitter.  Dahlia's  weaker  nature  gave  vent  to 
her  despair,  but  liere  was  one  whose  stronger  feeling  did  not 
prevent  her  from  seeing  clearly  the  whole  i>osition,  and  under- 
standing precisely  where  the  folly  of  it  lay. 

She  took  blame  to  herself  first,  l>ecause  she  liad  been  tempted 
to  trifle  with  the  devotion  of  a  true  heart  under  the  false  im- 
pression that  she  was  doing  him  service  at  the  cost  of  her  own 
KufTering ;  and  then  she  blamed  the  man  who  stood  before  her, 
because  he  had  placed  the  temptation  in  her  way. 

They  had  both  done  a  cruel  wrong ;  it  was  right  that  thi»y 
should  suffer  for  it. 

Mr.  Dottridge  stood  silent  and  humiliated.  He  had  regained 
health,  regained  youth,  and — greatest  boon  of  all — he  had 
regained  the  capacity  to  love  ;  and  all  to  no  purpose.  To  win 
that  love  he  had  done  a  wrong  which  seemed  to  be  irreparable. 
The  only  atonement  he  could  make  was  to  consent  to  see  the 
door  of  the  happiness  for  which  he  had  staked  so  much  closed 
upon  him  for  ever. 

But  there  he  pulled  himself  up.  Sentiment  had  more  to  do 
with  this  despairing  view  of  affairs  than  reason,  and  people 
could  be  very  hai)py  with  reason — although  the  absence  of  the 
other  element  must  make  a  big  blank  always. 

He  walked  slowly  across  the  floor,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
him,  his  head  bowed.  He  returned  to  her,  and  he  was  smiling 
— a  sad  smile,  certainly,  but  the  sadness  of  it  was  l)rightened 
^y  good  nature  and  honest  pui*pose,  as  you  sometimes  see  a 
cloudy  April  landsca^K?  illuminated  by  the  sun. 

*'  You  are  hard  ui)on  me,  Kuth,  and  hard  upon  yourself,"  he 
8aid  very  quietly.  "  I  admit  the  blunder  which  my  selfish, 
greedy  love  for  you  caused  me  to  make.  Hut  why  should  we 
not  calmly  join  hands,  and  together  try  to  set  matters  as  right 
as  they  can  be  set  now." 

"  Impossible  I" 

«  Why  so  ?" 

"  I  have  already  told  you  what  he  demands,  and  I  have  agreed 
to  grant." 

"  He  spoke  in  his  frenzy —  surely  you  will  not  i>ermit  that  to 
be  an  excuse  for  making  us  all  more  miserable  than  we  are." 

"  I  have  given  him  my  promise." 

"  In  a  few  days  he  will  see  the  folly  of  it,  and  release  you." 

**  Ah,  yes,  he  may  release  me — he  may  forgive  me ;  but  I 
cannot  forgive  myself." 

Again  he  took  that  slow,  deliberating  turn  across  the  floor. 
Then: 


-214  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

**  You  will  make  me  think  that  you  are  infected  by  his  fury 
against,  me.  Consider,  Rutlu  we  did  not  cause  the  shipwreck; 
we  did  not  comi)el  him  to  marry  Dahlia.** 

"  It  c*ould  not  have  happeneil  if  I  had  explained  my  reasons 
for  going  away  at  first." 

"Then  vou  would  have  been  inifair  tome.  .  .  .  But  here 
we  are  discussing  what  might  have  l>een  when  we  ought  to  be 
thinking  only  of  what  may  be." 

"We  have  to  think  of  what  must  he.  I  must  leave  here  at 
once,  and  you  and  I  must  never  meet  again." 

She  did  hesitate  in  j)ronouncing  that  sentence :  for  he  had 
been  a  good  friend,  and  she  knew  that  it  was  his  love  for  her 
whicli  had  restorinl  him  to  life,  and  those  things  we  save  from 
ruin  are  always  precious  to  us. 

He  was  very  piile,  and  stixnl  quite  still  looking  at  her, 
wondering  if  this  verrliot  could  l>e  really  final. 

There  was  a  strange  silence  in  the  rixim. 

Then  the  gieat  power  of  j>atience  which  was  bom  of  the  man*3 
love  came  to  his  aid,  and  he  s^wke : 

"  So  be  it.  ^lake  what  arrangements  you  think  best  for  your 
departure.  I  will  see  that  you  have  every  assistance.  But  .  .  . 
Kuth,  iue  you  still  so  bound  to  this  man  who  has  given  himself 
to  another  that  you  cannot  feel  some  regret  for  the  pain  you  are 
causing  me  ?■' 

She  held  her  hands  before  her  face  for  an  instant ;  then  she 
clasj>ed  his. 

*'  Ix)ok  at  me." 

And  that  was  sufficient  answer.  The  pale  brave  face,  the 
earnest  eyes,  and  the  quivering  lips  told  him  how  she  was 
suffering.  He  drew  her  head  towards  him,  and  kissed  her  on 
the  brow. 

"  My  i)Oor  girl,  what  is  to  be  your  future  ?'' 

"  Work  of  some  kind — hard  work.  I  shall  go  into  trade.  I 
have  thought  of  it  before,  and  often  wondered  why  women  say 
it  is  so  difficult  to  find  work  when  there  is  so  much  for  them 
to  do.  I  shall  not  try  to  write,  or  paint,  or  to  become  an 
actress.  I  shall  become  a  gi*eengrocer,  a  fishmonger,  or  a  rag 
merchant.  There  is  plenty  of  work  which  depends  for  its  results 
uix)n  the  energy  and  industry  of  the  worker,  and  it  is  something 
of  that  sort  I  shall  trv." 

Although  all  this  was  8i)oken  in  the  hurry  of  excitement,  it 
was  evident  that  she  had  thought  over  the  matter,  and  had 
good  grounds  for  her  faith  in  the  power  of  earnest  work. 

"  When  you  have  had  time  to  think  of  some  definite  plan  yoii 
can  let  me  know,"  said  ]Mr.  Dottridge.  "  The  pledge  whicli 
separates  us  does  not  prevent  me  from  helping  you." 

"It  does — ^you  must  do  nothing,  and  I  can  accept  nothing 
from  you.    When  I  leave  this  house  I  sliall  be  dead  to  you,  and 


4« 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  21o 

to  all  associated  with  it.     That  is  the  only  way  in  which  I  can 
make  him  forget  me.'* 

"  You  are  mistaken,  and  you  are  doing  wrong,"  he  said, 
gravely.  "But  I  will  not  argue  with  you  now;  I  leave 
circumstances  to  decide  which  of  us  is  right  this  time.  I  hope 
they  may  not  decide  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  you  bitterly 
repent  this  new  step.  I  see  a  plain  course  before  us,  and  you 
refuse  to  adopt  it  in  obedience  to  the  frenzied  cry  of  a  man  you 
think  you  have  wronged.  For  the  time  being,  so  be  it ;  but  I 
reserve  my  own  course  of  action." 

''  If  you  bear  any — I  must  call  it  friendship  for  me  you  will 
do  nothing  tx)  interfere  with  my  i)hin." 

*'I  will  make  no  promise.  If  I  see  you  are  happy,  I  shall  be 
.silent  and  do  nothing.  If  I  see  you  are  suffering  I  shall  act  as 
may  seem  best  to  myself." 

He  said  this  very  deliberately;  and  she  turned  ciway  from  him 
with  a  wearied  look. 

'*  ^'ou  only  make  my  task  the  harder." 
I  hope  not." 

Do  you  not  see  that  I  am  obliged  to  act  towards  you  as  an 
enemy  and  not  a  friend.  Promise  to  let  me  go  my  way  with- 
out interference  on  your  part,  and  1  will  accept  it  as  the  greatest 
proof  you  can  give  me  of  the  sincerity  of  the  feelings  which 
have  led  you  to  do  so  much  on  my  account." 

A  pause  ;  then  he,  huskily : 

"  You  ask  too  much,  Kuth.     Tell  me  that  you  hate  me,  and 

I  shall  never  seek  to  see  you  or  hear  you  again 

Can  you  do  that  ?" 

She  bowed  her  head,  moaning,  but  so  softly,  that  it  seemed 
as  if  she  were  only  drawing  a  pjiinful  breath. 

"  How  can  I  do  that  ?" 

He  smiled  sadly,  and  took  her  bowed  head  gently  between 
his  hands. 

"  I  should  be  sony  if  you  could.  You  must  be  as  one  dead 
to  him  ;  but  why  should  you  be  so  to  me  ?  Your  life  and  his 
can  never  be  united.     Ours  may  be — by-and-bye." 

"  It  can  never  be — he  has  forbidden  it,  and  I  must  obey." 

^*  He  may  relent — he  wnll  relent  as  soon  as  he  becomes 
sensible  of  all  that  is  involved  in  this  vengeance  of  spleen.  It 
is  absurd  ;  if  he  was  not  false  to  you,  he  is  false  now  to  Dahlia 
in  claiming  a  right  to  control  you.  And  you !  You  are  false 
to  yourself  more  than  to  me,  by  submitting  to  be  his  accomplice 
in  destroying  her  life." 

"  That  is  cruel." 

« It  is  true." 

**  No,  for  I  give  her  all  the  help  she  requires,  although  in  a 
different  way  from  what  you  wish.  I  am  only  seeking  to  do 
what  seems  to  me  best  for  him  and  for  her.'' 


216  OF  HIGH  DEGKEE. 

"  And  yet  you  said  that  but  for  him  you   would  consent  to 

{'oin  hands  with  me  I  .  .  .  You  know  that  we  would  be 
lappy  together ;  you  know  that  by  taking  this  step  you  at  once 
silence  him.  ^'ou  should  also  know  that  by  refusing  to  take  it 
— by  obeying  him,  you  keep  open  his  wound,  you  quicken  his 
resentment  against  Dahlia,  and  render  peace  in  their  home 
impossible." 

"  No,  no— not  when  they  understand  that  I  am  dead  to  you 
and  to  all  of  them." 

"  That  can  only  be  after  years  of  vexation  to  all  of  us." 

She  held  out  her  hands  imploringly. 

"  You  said  that  you  would  not  argue  with  me  any  more  on 
this  subject." 

He  was  instantly  checked,  and  seemed  to  pull  himself  up 
sharply  as  he  replied  : 

"That  is  true ;  for  the  present  I  agree  to  be  silent,  and  I  am 
sorry  that  my  eagerness  betrayed  me  into  a  renewal  of  the 
discussion.  You  will,  at  any  rate,  see  me  again  before  you  go 
away  ?" 

{She  bowed,  unable  to  speak. 

"  I  will  be  able  to  tell  you  then  wliat  etiect  the  result  of  our 
interview  has  had  upon  Dahlia.  Poor  child,  1  am  anxious  on 
her  account,  for  the  proof  you  are  giving  to  Stephen  of  your 
love  for  him  is  the  proof  of  his  falsehood  to  her.'' 

"  0  spare  me." 

*'  I  cannot  spare  you  in  this,  Kuth,  and  would  not  even  if 
your  action  had  no  evil  consecpience  to  myself." 

'^  It  is  for  his  sake,"  she  said  to  herself,  clinging  to  her 
purpose  with  the  desperate  devotion  with  which  the  martyr  in 
the  flames  clings  to  his  crucitix  :  "  it  is  for  his  sake." 

i\Ir.  Dottridge  regarded  her  with  as  much  amazement  as 
regret  now.  His  own  devotion  to  her  helped  him  to  understand 
her,  although  his  clear  practical  view  of  the  whole  ])osition 
compelled  him  to  think  that  she  was  acting  under  the  influence 
of  an  exaggerated  idea  of  the  fidelity  she  owed  to  Stephen. 
The  same  practical  vision  enabled  him  to  act  decisively. 

"  I  will  not  take  that  message  to  Dahlia,"  he  said  quietly, 
"  for  the  rest,  I  know  you  too  well,  Kuth,  not  to  feel  satisfied 
that  in  a  few  hours  you  will  see  the  absurdity  of  taking  a  step 
which  will  do  him  no  good,  and  will  give  us  all  so  much  trouble. 
I  count  upon  you  to  grant  me  this  favour,  that  you  will  not 
leave  Kemerton  until  to-morrow." 

Then  he  went  back  to  his  own  room,  where  he  found  Dahlia 
moving  about  with  the  restlessness  of  a  wild  animal  in  a  cage. 

"Well?" 

The  question  was  put  with  fierce  eagerness  as  she  halted 
before  him. 

He  did  not  know  how  to  answer  her,  for  he  wanted  to  soothe 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  217 

her  without  telling  her  a  lie.  Then  Dahlia  laughed  in  that 
I>eculiar  way  which  at  once  indicated  the  presence  of  half- 
conscious  mania. 

"  She  has  refused  !  I  told  you  that  she  would.  She  wants 
to  take  him  from  me." 

'*  My  dear  Dahlia,  you  must  not  allow  such  foolish  thoughts 
to  overcome  you  in  this  way.     She  has  refused,  but — " 

Dahlia  bowed  smiling,  but  the  smile  was  the  painful  grin  of 
insanity.  And  yet  she  spoke  with  more  calmness  than  she  had 
vet  shown  since  she  came  to  him. 

"Thank  you.  I  see  that  you  cannot  helii  mo;  I  will  try  to 
help  myself.     Good-bye." 

"Don't  go  yet,  Dahlia;  I  wish  to  exi)lain  that  things  are  not 
so  bad  as  they  seem." 

"  I  hope  not ;  but  you  need  not  trouble  yourself  to  explain. 
I  should  not  understand  you  at  pn^sent." 

He  believed  that,  and  her  recognition  of  the  fact  afforded  him 
much  relief.  As  she  left  him,  he  rang  the  bell,  and  Hrassey 
answered  it. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Meredith  ?" 

"  In  Mr.  Kapier's  room." 

"  Say  that  I  wish  to  see  him  at  once." 

**  Yes,  sir." 

Hrassey  bowed,  and  retired. 


CHAPTER  LII.— ^^.MARTi'KS  Slain  ix  Cupid's  Waks." 

Ruth  knew  that  ^Ir.  Dottridge  had  been  speaking  good  sense 
in  all  that  he  had  said ;  she  felt  it  at  the  time,  and  yet  could  not 
give  in  to  it.  She  felt  that  he  had  come  to  supply  tlie  one  thing 
which  she  had  previously  decided  was  the  special  charm  to 
release  them  all  from  the  mesh  of  difl&culties  and  misunder- 
standings they  had  fallen  into^that  was  common  sense  ;  and 
yet  she  had  been  unable  to  obey  her  own  [)erception  of  what  was 
right,  and  act  with  him  promptly  and  resolutely. 

She  tried  to  take  herself  to  task. 

"  What  he  says  is  true  :  Stephen  has  no  right  to  ask  me  to 
direct  my  life  according  to  his  wish.  I  see  the  probability  of 
happiness  as  the  wife  of  one  who  has  always  been  my  true  friend 
and  my  faithful  lover.  Is  it  vanity,  or  is  it  fear  which  makes  me 
submit  to  Stephen's  command  ?  Dahlia  would  be  happy  if  I 
were  married.  Stephen  would  be  indignant  at  first,  but  would 
soon  see  that  it  was  the  best  thing  that  could  happen.  .  .  . 
But  I  have  given  him  my  promise ;  I  think  it  is  due  to  him, 
and  I  think  Mr.  Dottridge  should  suffer  some  of  the  jiain  he  lias 
himself  created." 


1>18  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

liut  she  was  no  nearer  the  sohition  of  the  problem  than  when 
^he  began  her  sj)eculations. 

"  I  have  given  him  my  promise — that  is  where  the  diflBculty 
is  now.     That  and  my  anxiety  to  stand  well  in  his  memory.'^ 

She  could  not  get  over  that  craving ;  slie  wanted  ►Stephen  to 
love  lier,  although  they  were  sejiai-ated,  and  she  shrank  with 
slianie  at  the  recognition  of  that  desire. 

'*My  plan  is  the  best,"  she  said  to  herself  resolutely.  "  I^t 
me  disappear  from  amongst  them.  T^et  them  know  that  I  am 
really  dead  so  far  as  tlu»y  are  concerned.  Stephen  will  forgive 
Dahlia,  and  th<»  contented  life  which  has  Ix^en  interruj>ted  by 
my  retuni  will  be  continued.     Hy-and-bye  he  will  forget  me.'' 

And  there  was  something  bitter  in  that  thought,  although 
she  smiled  fec»l)ly  as  it  passed  through  her  bi'ain. 

As  sh(*  was  passing  upstairs,  she  saw  li^ipier  entering  ilr. 
Dot  t  ridge's  room,  and  she  felt  a  chill  as  if  a  cold  blast  had 
suddenly  swept  through  the  hall.  She  remembered  the 
assignation  he  had  forced  upon  her. 

'*  That  man  is  the  cause  of  it  all,"  was  her  thought,  *'  can  we 
do  nothing  to  prevent  him  working  further  harm  ?" 

There  was  something  definite  to  do — to  discover  Rapiers 
purpose  and  to  outwit  him.  It  would  he  ditHcult  to  shake  Mr. 
Dott ridge's  confidence  in  him,  for  she  had  no  proof  of  any 
treachery  on  his  part.  It  was  no  crime  for  him  to  seek  her 
hand.  Beyond  that  vague  feeling  of  mistrust  with  which  she 
had  always  regarded  him,  she  had  no  ground  for  even  casting 
blame  u])on  him.  Hut  she*  was  convinced  that  he  exercised  an 
evil  influence  over  them  ;  and  she  more  than  suspected  that  it 
was  he  who  suggested  to  Mr.  Dottridge  the*  arrangement  which 
had  proved  so  fatal  to  their  happiness. 

At  any  rate  she  would  do  what  was  in  her  power  to  find  him 
out.  If  he  were  honest,  no  injury  would  be  done  him  ;  if  her 
sus})icions  proved  to  b(*  correct,  good  nmst  be  the  result  of  her 
investigations. 

Thinking  over  this  matter,  she  became  «\lm. 

Rapier,  unconscious  of  the  direction  her  thoughts  had  taken, 
proceeded  with  his  plans. 

"  It  was  Meredith  I  wanted  to  see,"  said  ]Mr.  Dottridge  when 
his  agent  entered. 

"  He  is  sound  asleep,"  answered  Kapier  (juietly. 

"  Asleep  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  was  obliged  to  do  something  for  him,  and  so  I  took 
u\)Oii  myself  the  responsibility  of  a  phj'sician  for  once  in  a  way, 
and  gave  him  a  sleeping  draught.  When  he  wakens  he  will  be 
in  a  much  better  condition  to  talk  over  matters  sensibly.'* 

Although  astonished  by  Rapier's  action,  Mr.  Dottridge  was 
quite  able  to  see  that  it  was  the  best  thing  that  could  be  done 
under  the  circumstances. 


OF  HIGH  DEGEEE.  219 

"  I  must  speak  to  liim  as  soon  as  he  wakens.  I  am  alarmed 
about  Dahlia — I  fear  for  lier  reason." 

''  I  fear  for  her  life,  but  there  is  no  immediate  danger.  I  have 
been  talking  with  her  since  she  left  you,  and  I  have  promised 
tliat  to-night  she  will  be  satisfied  that  she  has  no  rivalry  to  fear 
from  Miss  Clark." 

"  What   do  you   mean  ?" 

"  It  will  be  a  surprise  for  you,"  said  Rapier  in  his  gayest  tone; 
**it  means  that  to-night  Miss  Clark  is  going  to  choose  a 
husband." 

Mr.  Dottridge  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  studied  liapier's 
face.  Amongst  all  the  possible  reasons  for  that  peculiar 
expression  which  he  had  seen  in  the  mirror  when  dressing, 
the  one  which  now  flashed  upon  him  was  the  most  remote  from 
his  thoughts.  But  how  was  it  Ruth  had  never  hinted  at  any- 
thing of  this  kind  ?  That  was  a  puzzle.  Ra])ier,  too,  had  always 
been  very  frank  with  him  :  how  was  it  he  had  kept  this  secret 
so  closely  ?  There  was  something  very  bewildering  here  ;  and  so 
he  only  said  very  slowly  and  inquiringly : 

'*  Indeed  ?     .     .     .     I  am  surprised." 

"I  thought  you  would  be.  Of  course  you  have  already 
sunnised  who  the  happy  man  is  to  be." 

"  Under  ordinary  circumstances,"  Mr.  Dottridge  answered, 
Htill  speaking  in  that  very  slow  way  as  if  every  word  were 
carefully  weighed  as  it  passed  his  lips.  *'  I  should  say  that  you 
were  telling  me  of  your  own  good  fortune.  But  in  this  case 
I  think  I  must  be  mistaken." 

*'  No,  you  are  not  mistaken.  To-night,  I  believe  I  shall  have 
the  happiness  of  bringing  her  to  you  and  asking  you  to  give  us 
your  blessing — which  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  do." 

Rapier  spoke  with  a  careless  confidence  which  secretly 
instated  Mr.  Dottridge,  who  remained  silent  for  a  few  seconds 
after  this  last  speech.     Then,  more  slowly  than  before : 

"  If  Miss  Clark  accepts  you  .  .  I  shall  .  .  wish  you 
both  all  happiness." 

At  this,  Itepier's  careless,  jaunty  manner  was  changed  for  one 
of  earnest  admiration. 

"  I  thought  you  would  say  that,  Dottridge,  although  it  is  only 
to-day  that  I  have  understood  how  much  it  must  cost  you 
to  say  it." 

A  pause.  Dottridge's  eyes  remained  fixed  on  Rapier  s  face ; 
and  at  length  he  rose  quietly,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  I  congratulate  you.  Rapier  ;  you  nave  won  a  prize  for  which 
I  would  have  given  all  that  I  possess." 

Tliey  shook  hands,  then  Dottridge,  with  bowed  head,  walked 
slowly  up  and  down  the  room,  whilst  the  other  remained 
standing  on  the  hearthrug  in  respectful  silence.  Without 
baiting  or  lifting  his  head,  Dottridge  spoke. 


220  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

"  Since  you  understand  wliat  my  wishes  were,  you  can  also 
understand  how  much  amazed  I  am  that  nothing  has  occurred 
in  her  conversation  or  manner  to  suggest  the  ^lossibility  of  this 
event.  Therefore  I  would  like  you  to  explain  a  little.  Have  you 
her  authority  for  making  this  announcement.?'' 

In  spite  of  his  marvellous  self-control,  his  voice  was  husky 
and  so  low  that  the  listener  had  difficulty  in  catching  some  of 
the  words. 

**  I  have  not  i)recisely  got  her  authority  to  make  the 
announcement  yet." 

«  Ah  r 

He  halted  and  looked  up  ([uickly,  his  eyes  brightening  with 
renewed  hope. 

"  I  shall  nave  it,  however,  at '' — he  looked  at  his  watch — "at 
a  (|uarter-past  nine,  provided  you  do  not  interfere." 

"  I  cnnnot  interfere  with  her  wishes  in  such  a  matter  as  this.'^ 

"In  that  case  the  prize  is  mine.  I  will  try  to  explain  the 
posit  ion.  Vou  remi^mher  when  we  were  talking  about  Meredith's 
affiiirs,  I  said  I  had  a  special  reason  of  my  own  for  being  glad 
thnt  vou  had  no  other  motive  than  that  of  desiring  to  do  a  good 
turn  to  otlu»rs  in  making  the  arrangement  which  sent  Miss  Clark 
across  the  sea?     You  now  know  what  that  reason  was." 

"  ^'es,  and  I  now  know  tliat  you  had  a  special  reason  in 
suggesting  the  arrangement,"  said  Dottridge,  and  there  was  a 
bitterness  in  his  tone  which  he  could  not  altogether  conceal. 

"  I  admit  it.  Hut  if  you  can  excuse  yourself  for  carrying  it 
out,  having,  as  I   now  know,  the   sjime  motive,  you  can  excuse 


me." 


"  But  I  do  not  excuse  myself." 

"What?" 

"  I  have  to-(iay  leanit  that  I  did  a  cruel  thing  for  which  there 
is  no  atonement." 

"  Yet  you  still  wanted  to  marry  her  ?" 

"  Yes ;  because  whilst  I  own  the  blunder  of  the  past,  I  want 
to  do  the  best  I  can  to  make  things  comfortable  in  the  present 
and  for  the  future." 

Kapier  inclined  his  head,  and  continued  respectfully  : 

"  I  can  understand,  and,  I  hope,  appreciate  the  good  sense 
which  actuates  you  in  the  course  you  have  adopted.  But  you 
see,  as  things  have  turned  out,  it  is  impossible  that  she  cau 
accept  you.  Meredith  has  compelled  her  to  pledge  herself  to 
that;  but  she  is  not  pledged  against  me.  She  is  anxious  to 
restore  peace  to  the  people  at  Derewood,  and  she  knows  what  is 
the  quickest  and  surest  way  to  do  so.  The  advantages  are  on 
my  side,  you  perceive." 

''  I  can  perceive  nothing  more  than  that  you  have  not  got  the 
spite  of  a  madman  to  interfere  with  you.  In  all  that  you  have 
«aid  there  is  nothing  to  justify  you  in  asserting  that  your  suit  is 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  221 

accepted.  For  the  rest,  1  have  no  doubt  of  being  able  to  bring 
jNIeredith  to  reason  before  long." 

"  It  will  be  too  late  to  affect  her  decision." 

"  That  I  shall  only  believe  when  she  herself  tells  me  that  you 
have  won  her  consent." 

"  I  have  promised  you  that  she  will  do  so.  And,  in  the  mean- 
while, all  I  ask  is  that  you  will  not  try  to  influence  her  against 
me." 

*'  1  shall  say  nothing  to  her  about  you  until  a  quart er-i)ast 
nine  to-night." 

"  That  is  fair,  and  I  thank  you  cordially.  I  am  sorry  that 
without  knowing  it  I  have  been  your  rival.  I  could  not  do  more 
than  acquaint  you  with  the  position  as  soon  as  I  discovered  it. 
Ijove  is  an  affair  in  which  unfortunately  the  closest  friends  may 
cross  each  other,  and  few  escape  quarrelling  over  it.  Are  we 
to  be  amongst  the  few  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

**  That  relieves  my  mind  of  all  care.  Upon  my  word,  when  I 
learnt  how  we  stood,  my  first  thought  was  to  retire  at  once. 
Nothing  could  have  made  me  go  on  but  the  knowledge  that 
you  are  absolutely  excluded  from  tlie  race,  and  that  by  obtaining 
her  consent  at  once,  I  will  render  Dahlia  the  greatest  possible 
service." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  be  gratified.     Has  she  gone  ?" 

"  She  went  just  as  I  came  to  you.  Of  course  you  could  not 
hear  the  carriage  in  this  room." 

*•  Was  she  calm  ?" 

**  She  was  very  much  relieved  by  my  assurances." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  see  you  by-and-bye." 

"  I  do  ho^K?  that  you  will  not  be  too  much  upset  by  the  turn 
events  have  taken." 

"  I  daresay  I  shall  bear  it  somehow." 

"  It  is  a  most  awkward  ix)sition  for  me,  and  I  hope  you 
will  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  wish  it  could  have  been 
otherwise." 

(To  he  continued.) 


WELSH    ORIGIN   OF   LATIN    PLACE-NAMES. 


AKTICLE     III. 

In  addition  to  the  local  names  canvassed  in  previous  notice?, 
onr  anthor  fnrther  claims  for  the  I^itin  the  following  words, 
namely, /o<**^a,  as  in  Fossbury,  partus^  as  in  Portsea  ;  vallumy 
as  in  Walbury,  and  mill  la  ^  a  mile.  It  is,  however,  extremely 
doubtful  \vhether  even  one  of  these  is  originally  a  Latin  word. 

Fossdy  ov  fosse y  is  sjiid  by  Barclay  and  other  etymologists  to  be 
from  the  British  ffos^  which  is  an  extremely  ancient  word, 
meaning  a  bog,  a  quag,  a  morass,  or  ground  in  so  wet  and 
unsolid  a  state  as  to  let  man  or  bi^ast  down  into  it.  There  are 
many  places  in  Wales  into  tht»  names  of  which  the  word  fd» 
enters,  as  Blaen-tf-jfy^s  FfoS't/'</enct/Hy  vfcc,  where  there  never 
was  a  Koman  fossa  or  a  deep  ilitch  tilled  with  water,  as  a 
defence  for  camp  or  city.  In  both  the  Celtic  and  I-»atin 
languages  the  word  has  a  number  of  derivatives ;  but  since  the 
Celtic  is  incomparably  older  than  the  Latin, probability  sanctions 
the  opinion  that  the  Komans  found  this  word  in  Britain,  and 
adopted  it,  like  many  other  words,  calling  a  mote,  or  dug  trench 
about  their  fort iticat ions,  a  tfhs6y  owing  to  its  similarity  to  the 
Celtic ^^(>8  in  swallowing  up  anyone  who  would  enter  it. 

Port  us   is,  uncpiestionably,   a    Celtic   word    Latinized,   from 
iwrthy  meaning  originally,  aid,  help,  succour,  sustenance,  food  ; 
that  which  conveys  supi)ort  or  fo(.Kl ;  a  door,  a  passage,  a  port. 
It  acquired  its  secondary  meaning  of  conveyance,  passage,  or 
port,  owing  to  the  ancient  practice  of  conveying  provisions  and 
other  necessaries  into  fortitieil  cities  through  the  large  doors 
that  formed  their  entrances,  remnants  of  which,  in  some  cities 
and  towns,  are  still  to  be  seen,  and  called  gates^  from  the  Saxon 
geateSy  and,  in  some  instances,  ports.     The  root  of  the  word. 
jjoHh  is  j}aivry  food,  pasture, — *'  Llwm  tir  ni  phawr  dafad;'* 
Bare  the  land  a  sheep  will  not  graze — Old  adage.     The  deriva- 
tives of  this  word  in  the  present  spoken  branches  of  the  Celtic 
language  are  exceedingly  numerous.      Few  can  be  given  for 
examples,  as — dy^borl^  to  over  feed  ;  di/-bortfii,  to  feed,  carry, 
bear ;  yvi-boi'thy  food,  sustenance ;  tooih  a  loaf  of  bread,  ara-borthy 
food  ;  amhorth,  support ;  cyniliovth^  assistance,  aid,  succour,  &c. 
It  is  found  in  the  most  ancient  Welsh  records  extant,  as,  "  Pen 
bwthaf  ar  fy  ysgxvydd^^    A  head  I  bear  on  my  shoulders — 
Llywarch  HSiiy  about  A.D.  590.     The  word,  originally  meaning 
food  or  feeding,  became,  by  metonymy,  to  mean  the  carrying  of 
food  and  other  necessaries  of  life ;  afterwards,  the  passages  or 
doors   through   which  these   were   conveyed ;   and,  lastly,  the 
passage  or  places  by  means  of  which  ships  carrying  provisions 


WELSH  OKIGIN  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES.       22^ 

and  other  goods  approached  cities  and  towns,  so  as,  by  com- 
position, to  become  porth-ladd,  or  llong-borth,  a  harbour  for 
phips,  a  seaport.  Llang-borthy  probably  meaning  Portsmouth, 
is  a  name  frequently  used  by  Llyivarch  Hen^  a  bard  of  the 
end  of  the  Fifth  and  commencement  of  the  Sixth  Century, 
in  singing  the  elegy  of  Geraint  ab  Erbyn,  prince  of  Devon, 
who,  as  admii-al  of  his  fleet,  fell  at  Llanr/'borth.  "  Yn 
Llong  borth  y  llan  Geraint"  At  Llong-borth  was  Geraint 
slain.  PoHh'ley  forth-loeddy  and  porth-ladd^  (a  sc^aport, 
harbour)  are  words  used  by  Cynddelw  of  the  Twelfth  Century, 
and  many  other  ancient  bards.  In  fine,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  poHhy  or,  without  the  aspirate,  hypoiij  is  an  original  Celtic 
term,  and  that  the  Latin,  portits  and  paHciy  to  say  the  le^st,  are 
cognate  words.  The  word  porty  as  used  at  present  for  a  seaport, 
is  from  the  sources  already  indicated.  As  for  the  proper  name, 
Portsea^  which  our  author  cites  as  an  instance  of  the  introduc- 
tion of  Latin  into  English,  it  is  decidedly  Saxon.  That  the 
►Saxons  used  the  word  party  in  the  various  senses  that  it  is  at 
[iresent  used,  is  certain :  and  few  will  deny  that  the  word  sea  or 
i-ather  sre  is  Saxon.  Portseay  now  really  one  with  Portsmouth, 
takes  its  name  from  the  island  of  that  name  into  which,  on  the 
recession  of  the  sea  from  the  ancient  Port-chester,the  inhabitants 
removed,  and,  on  the  south-west  of  it,  built  Portsmouth.  But 
the  word  porty  in  Port-chester,  Port-sea,  and  Ports-mouth,  is 
said  to  be  from  Portcty  the  name  of  a  famous  Saxon  chieftain, 
who,  with  his  two  sons  and  an  army,  in  501  A.D.,  landed 
here,  and,  after  van([uishing  the  old  liritish  inhabitants,  built 
Port-chester,  which  went  after  his  own  name,  with  the  word 
ceasteVy  ceastrey  or  chestevy  which,  we  have  seen,  was  peculiar  to 
his  own  race*,  the  Saxons.  (Ethelw.  Chron.  cap  2.,  Flor. ;  Wig. 
205  ;  Sax.  Chron.  p.  17).  At  all  events,  the  name  Port-sea  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  Latin. 

ValluDiy  a  wall,  as  in  Walbury,  is  the  next  word  claimed,  as 
if  the  word  luaU  were  from  the  Latin.  If  there  is  such  a  place 
as  Walbury,  which  is  not  noticed  by  any  English  topographer, 
it  may  be  composed  of  the  Saxon  wcely  slaughter,  carnage,  and 
burh  or  burgy  a  town,  city,  or  burying-place.  There  is  in  Essex 
a  town  called  Walden,  which,  centuries  ago,  was  called  the 
Walden-burgh.  Its  name  is  said  to  be  comix)8ed  of  the  Saxon 
weald  and  deUy  with  the  conmion  word  burrh,  and  to  signify  a 
woody  place.  So  the  syllable  Waly  in  Walbury,  may  mean  any 
other  thing  than  a  ivalL  It  may  be  from  the  Saxon  wcel,, 
meaning  a  whirlj^xx)!,  a  well,  and  also  a  carnage ;  or  from  tvala- 
weal,  or  stranger.  But  supposing  it  means  a  wally  what  for 
that  ?  Must  t-he  Saxon  have  had  from  the  Bomans  the  word 
weally  by  which  they  called  a  ivaUy  and  from  which  they  formed 
forty  or  fifty  derivative  and  compound  words,  such  as  bord- 
weaUy  breost-weaUy  eorth -weally  ace-weally  acyldrWtaUy  and  so 


1224       WEI^SH  ORIGIX  OF  L.\TIN  Pr^\CE.NAMES. 

cm  ?  (h  mast  the  Celtic  word  fji-'^h  which,  in  syntactical 
linage  anrl  compotifition  ca:3t3  the  initial  ^,  so  as  to  become  wal, 
and  whirh  also  was  an  ancient  term  centuries  before  Julias 
i'-jbAHv  fiot  ffX)t  on  British  soil,  have  been  derived  from  the 
I^itin,  vallnra?  Tlie  Britons,  who,  before  the  Koman 
invasion,  had  thirty-three  fortitie<l  cities,  built  with  stones 
and  bricks,  such  as  are  found  in  the  remains  of  one 
of  them  at  Cafr-lliwi^  already  mentioned,  were  a  very 
likely  ]»eoi>le  to  have  had  a  name  for  a  wall,  before  the 
thirrl  Koman  emperor  that  attacked  them,  namely,  Severus, 
in  A.D.  124,  built  his  stone  wall  across  this  island^  and  were 
enabled,  at  a  very  early  pericxl,  to  call  this  pro^iigious  work 
— ^^Gn-av:l  S^ff^v'''  ^wall  of  Severus).  Nennius,  writing  in  the 
Twelfth  Century,  savs  of  it — ^'Tultionis  mmtLm  .  .  .  chduxit 
el  bryttaulcosenn(yiie  vacatur  fjaaid.''^  He  ordered  a  wall  .  .  • 
to  be  made  .  .  .  and  it  is  called  in  the  British  language  fficaL 
Further,  we  are  told  that  the  village  at  which  the  wall  ended 
was  called  P«'n-^?raZ  (or  Walls-end,  as  called  at  present^  by  the 
IkitouH,  Cenail  by  the  Scotch,  and  Peneltum  by  the  English — 
(^lual  ptr  132  onifliaria  passns^  id  ent^  a  peiifjaaul,  que  villa 
Hcotidij  Cenail^  Jnfjlice  vera  peneltura  dicitur.  It  will  be 
noticed  that,  in  the  foregoing  extracts,  the  I^tin  writer  does  not 
call  the  w;ill  Sevenis  ordered  to  be  built  vallunij  but  muHum. 
Indecrd,  lexicographers  do  not  make  valliiTn  strictly  to  mean  a 
wall,  but  rather  "a  trench,  a  bulwark,  a  ramjwirt,  a  palisade,  a 
stake,  or  jh^sI,"  and  it  has  few  derivatives.  M(tnia  api>ears  to 
have  been  the  oldest  word  used  by  the  I^atins  for  a  wall,  which 
is  evidently  cognate  with  the  Oltic  niaeii  (stone^.  Afterwards 
th(^v  became  to  use  man-vs  and  tyiuinis.  But  raurus  is  of 
<'eltic  origin,  from  mur^  a  wall,  a  ram})art,  and  is  in  use  to  the 
])resent  day  both  in  the  Welsh  and  Armorican,  having  many 
<lerivatives,  as  ravrdtl^  foundation  ;  Vivrddyn,  rubbish  of  old 
ruinous  houses  or  buildings  ;  mvriOy  to  wall ;  min*iwry  a  waller, 
a  mason  ;  mur-lyfi^  wall-flowers,  &c.  So  common  was  the  word 
nnur  in  the  Sixth  Century  that  Taliesin  uses  it  metaphorically, 
thus : — 

Madawg  mui'  nieiiw-yd, 
Madawg  cyii  bu  beddi 
])u  ddiiiOM  edryiKxid. 

IMadog,  while  alive,  was  a  ramiiait  of  enjoyment,  and  a  citadel 
of  abundance. 

But  notwithstanding  our  author's  predilection  for  the  I^atin, 
in  common  with  many  other  learned  men,  his  book  is  highly 
vtUuable,  especially  to  those  about  seeking  University  honours. 
As  a  means  of  coaching  candidates  for  matriculation,  its  utility 
cannot  be  overrated. 

I.  G. 
[concluded.] 


THE  QUIET  MINI). 


Though  low  my  lot  my  wish  is  won, 

My  hopes  are  few  and  staid  ; 
All  I  thought  life  would  do,  is  done. 

My  last  request  is  made. 
If  I  have  foes,  no  foes  I  fear. 

To  fate  I  live  resigned, 
I  have  a  friend  I  value. here, 

And  that's  a  quiet  mind. 

I  wish  not  it  was  mme  to  wear 

Flushed  Honour's  sunny  crown, 
I  wish  not  I  was  Fortune's  heir. 

She  frowns,  and  let  her  frown  ; 
I  wish  not  for  the  pomp  and  strife 

That  others  wish  to  find, 
I  only  wish  the  bliss  of  life, 

And  that's  a  quiet  mind. 

The  soldier's  taunt  in  battle  field, 

The  great  man's  pedigree, 
What  honours  do  they  ever  yield, 

Or  what  are  they  to  me  ? 
Though  praise  and  pomp  to  eke  the  strife. 

Rave  like  a  mighty  wind. 
What  are  they  to  the  peace  of  life, 

A  calm  and  quiet  mind  ? 

I  see  the  great  pass  heedless  by. 

And  Pride  above  me  tower. 
It  costs  me  not  a  single  sigh 

For  either  wealth  or  power; 
They  are  but  men,  and  I'm  a  man 

Of  quite  as  good  a  kind, 
Proud,  too,  that  life  gives  all  she  can — 

A  calm  and  quiet  mind. 

Cefn.  T.  J.  P. 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  FlUST  LOCOMOTIVE. 


The  scenes,  objects,  ai.d  incidents  of  boyhood's  experience, 
which  memory  retains  in  old  age,  are  seldom  of  much  account, 
except  as  a  kind  of  coinage  which  circulates  in  the  individual 
mind,  recalling  most  often  the  brightest  and  happiest  part  of 
existence.  The  tendency  of  such  recollections  is,  by  means  of 
the  imagination,  lo  lead  one  to  attach  undue  importance  to 
matters  in  themselves  of  little  value.  Out  of  this  tendency 
springs  the  habit  of  thought  indulged  in  by  so  many  elderly 
folk,  which  finds  expression  in  quoting  old  times  as  ever  the 
best,  and  in  deprecating  their  present  surroundings,  which  are, 
in  truth  and  fact,  in  almost  all  respects  preferable.  Impressions 
formed  when  the  fancy  was  delicately  plastic  and  exuberant 
become  amplified  and  magnified  by  long  years  of  mental 
perspective.  "  Time's  effacing  fingers"  often  spare  those  early 
impressions  even  down  to  their  slightest  details,  though  much 
or  most  of  the  experience  of  middle  age,  of  last  year,  and  even 
of  last  week,  has  become  blurred,  if  not  wiped  out  by  them 
altogether.  Lives  there  the  man  or  woman  who  does  not  retain 
within  the  memory  the  first  impressions  made  upon  the  mind 
by  some  striking  or  uncommon  object  or  incident  in  early  life 
experienced  or  seen  for  the  first  time ;  such  as  the  first  journey 
from  home,  the  first  view  of  the  sea,  or  a  ship  in  full  sail.  The 
day  and  place  the  first  wild  beast  was  seen — say,  an  elephant  or 
lion — would  be  sharply  fixed,  as  would  be  the  occasion  of  a  first 
introduction  to  a  curiosity  in  one's  own  species,  a  "giant,"  a 
*'  dwarf,"  or  a  "  pig-faced  lady."  The  effect  of  first  impressions 
remains  so  distinct  that  no  later  "glories  "  can  efface  them  from 
the  mind,  or  convince  it  that  these  were  not  the  best  specimens 
ever  known.  I  remember  most  vividly  my  first  elephant ;  and 
when  recently  reading  all  about  the  marvellous  "Jumbo,"  and  his 
claims  to  pre-eminence  in  his  line,  that  early  specimen  marched 
with  heavy  tread  across  my  mind,  and  jealously  claimed  a  sort 
of  original  right  to  occupy  all  the  space  within  it  I  had  to  s^xire 
for  elephants.  It  is  quite  probable  that  he  was  not  much  of  an 
elephant ;  but  notwithstanding,  so  large  does  he  still  loom  in  my 
imagination,  that  were  anyone  to  maintain  in  my  presence 
that  he  was  in  all  essentials  "  Jumbo's  "  superior,  and  that  he 
was  twenty  feet  high,  I  should  feel  disposed  to  back  and  support 
the  exaggeration. 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  FIRST  LOCOMOTIVE.        227 

My  first  experience  of  a  giant  and  of  a  dwarf  lias  had  precisely 
the  same  effect  on  me,  and  has  coloured  my  mind  in  such  a 
manner  that  all  later  specimens  are  only  admirable,  so  far  as 
they  correspond  with  first  impressions,  both  as  to  bulk  or  want 
■of  it,  and  also  in  their  moral  qualities.  I  never  can  think  of 
those  interesting  productions  of  nature  which  she  turns  out  of 
her  laboratory  when  in  sportive  mood,  or  disposed  for  a  little 
mild  caricature  on  the  *'  lords  of  creation,"  without  recalling  to 
mind  a  specimen  of  each  whose  acquaintance  I  made  in  early 
days ;  not  at  a  public  show  in  a  caravan,  but  in  another  public 
<»pacity — that  of  keeping  an  inn,  in  partnership,  at  Tydfil's 
Well,  Merthyr.  They  had  retired  from  the  show  line  of 
business,  but  were  still  on  view  to  anyone  who  chose  to  use 
the  house  they  kept ;  and  without  that  to  all  who  watched  an 
■opportunity  when  they  went  abroad  to  take  the  air,  which  they 
frequently  did.  "In  my  mind's  eye"  I  see  the  giant  now 
moving  along,  his  face  on  a  level  with  the  bedroom  windows  of 
the  houses,  into  which  he  could  look  with  impunity  were  he  so 
minded.  He  was  a  mild-mannered  man,  such  as  one  could 
look  up  to  morally  as  well  as  physically,  and  not  a  bit  like  any 
of  the  giants  Jack  had  to  deal  with.  The  dwarf,  whose  head 
And  face  were  almost  as  large  as  the  whole  of  his  body,  was 
somewhat  irascible  and  cross-grained  in  manner;  and  those 
personal  qualities,  mental  and  material,  seem  to  me  ever  since 
to  be  the  special  attributes  that  naturally  belong  to  all  giants 
and  to  all  dwarfs.  So  completely  have  first  experiences  domi- 
neered over  my  mind,  that  never  since  could  I  realise  the  idea 
of  an  ill-tempered  giant  or  a  sweet-tempered  dwarf. 

But  of  all  my  early  experiences  of  a  dominating  character, 
none  have  so  completely  warped  my  mind  and  my  judgment 
through  life  as  that  of  the  first  locomotive  engine  I  was  familiarly 
acquainted  with.  I  say  familiarly,  for  unbounded  admiration 
on  my  part,  and  a  kind  of  attractive  fascination  on  the  other, 
led  me  to  miss  no  opportunity  of  watching  and  indulging  in 
wistful  wonderings  about  her,  which  made  us  familiar  friends.  My 
reason  tells  me  that  I  have  seen  hundreds  of  locomotives  since 
then,  each  of  which  was  immeasurably  superior  to  this  my  first 
love,  and  that  at  the  present  day  such  a  machine  as  I  am 
writing  about  would  be  a  laughing-stock  in  the  mechanical 
world — nay,  would  not  be  allowed  to  cumber  the  ground  unless 
in  a  museum,  but  would  incontinently  be  set  aside  and  hidden 
out  of  sight.  But  my  reply  is,  reason  has  nothing  to  do  with  a 
matter  of  this  sort,  which  is  the  property  of  the  sentimental 
side  of  one's  nature.  The  youth  who  fell  in  love  with  a  maiden 
because  he  thought  her  the  prettiest  he  had  ever  seen,  or  ever 
would  see,  didn't  reason  about  the  matter  at  all.  If  he  had,  he, 
perhaps,  would  have  drawn  contrasts  and  comparisons,  weighed 
claims,  and  made  estimates ;  but  while  he  was  doing  all  this, 

p  2 


228        A  DAY  WITH  THE  FIRST  LOCOMOTIVE, 

his  love  would  have  flown  away.  No  I  he  married  his  first  love^ 
and  remains  to  this  day  convinced  that  he  picked  up  in  life's* 
lottery  a  prize,  and  that  his  wife  is  not  only  the  best,  but  also 
the  most  beautiful,  though,  in  fact,  she  may  be  homely  enoughs 
Thus  it  is  with  me.  No  doubt  the  splendid  Great  Western  and 
Great  Northern  locomotives,  "  The  Fire  King,"  "  Flying 
Dutchman,"  and  the  whole  tribe  of  them,  are  worthy  of  every- 
thing good  that  can  be  said  about  them.  Let  them  by  bM 
means  enjoy  praise,  and  flattery,  and  fame,  and  keep  steadily 
on  their  rails  as  they  fly  along  at  the  rat^  of  a  mile  a  minute. 
They  were  built  purposely  to  do  the  wonderful  feats  they 
accomplish.  It  was  expected  of  them,  and  they  do  their  duty. 
I  admire  them  immensely  myself,  but  I  will  not  permit  them 
to  pluck  from  my  affections  one  that  did  its  duties  according 
to  its  build,  and  in  the  age  it  existed,  as  satisfactorily  as  they 
now  do  theirs.  I  cannot,  and  will  not,  banish  an  old  friend 
from  my  esteem  to  please  them.  Let  them  go  their  own  way^ 
keep  themselves  from  exploding  or  running  off  the  track,  whilst 
I  retain  my  affection  for  their  less  accomplished,  home-bred, 
and  elderly  sister,  the  fancy  of  my  youth,  the  old  "Perse- 
yemnce." 

Not  long  since  there  was  an  PIxhibition  of  the  Eise  and 
Progress  of  Ijocomotive  Engines  at  J^eeds,  and  many  ancient 
specimens,  laid  up  in  ordinary,  graced  the  scene.  That  ancient 
pioneer  in  the  railway  race  —Stephenson's  "  Rocket,"  that 
killed  Huskisson,  the  statesman — was  there,  and  many  others, 
less  distinguished,  withdrawn  from  service  before  they  harV 
reached  bursting  j)oint.  Eagerly  I  looked  through  the  catalogue- 
of  that  exhibition,  hoping  to  find  the  old  "  Perseverance " 
amongst  the  number,  but,  alas,  no !  she  was  not  there.  I  read 
carefully  the  remarks  and  criticisms  in  the  Leeds  papers  on  the* 
various  points  and  technicalities  of  the  old  engines  exhibited, 
hoping  by  that  means  to  arrive  at  an  understanding  of  the 
special  qualities  and  peculiarities  of  the  locomotives  of  the 
*'  Perseverance  "  period,  so  as  to  enable  me  to  talk  scientifically 
about  my  old  friend  ;  but  my  labour  was  mainly  in  vain.  I 
plunged  into  descriptions  of  the  improvements  and  changes 
made  on  Newcomen's  engines  by  Trevithick,  Blenkinsop,  Chap- 
man, Brunton,  Gordon,  Gurney,  and  others,  but  found  nothing 
that  applied  specially  to  tlie  old  "Perseverance,"  for  I  could 
not  connect  any  one  of  them  in  a  direct  manner  with  the- 
principles  on  which  she  acted  her  part  on  the  world's  stage.  I 
often  wonder  what  was  done  with  the  old  "  Perseverance."  Did 
her  owners  take  her  to  pieces,  and  sell  her  parts  as  old  iron  ?  Or 
did  they  allow  her  to  run  the  natural  course  which  it  may  be 
presumed  would  be  the  end  of  ali  locomotives  if  left  to  them- 
selves— that  of  bursting  up  ? 

Merthvr^afi  a  locality,  was  honourably  connected  with  the- 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  FIEST  LOCOMOTR^,        229 

locomotive  engine  at  an  early  period,  and  no  history  of  that 
"  revolutionary  product "  can  be  considered  complete  that  does 
not  record  the  encouragement  to  practical  invention  given  by 
the  Dowlais  Iron  Com|>any  to  Eichard  Trevithick,  when  they 
panted,  in  1805,  the  free  use  of  their  tramway  at  Pant-Coed- 
Ivor,  to  work  his  experiments  upon.     The  result  of  those  trials 
was  in  the  highest  degree  satisfactory,  though  poor  Trevithick 
•did  not  reap  personally  much  benefit  by  them.     It  is  a  most 
remarkable  fact  that  the  embryo  engine  he  set  running  on  the 
Dowlais  tram  plates,  notwithstanding  its  extreme  simplicity, 
i)0ssessed  nearly  all  the  essential  arrangements  of  the  fleetest 
modem  locomotive.     I  regret  I  cannot  give  the  original  history 
of  the  *'  Perseverance."     I  know  nothing  as  to  where  or  when 
:she  was  built.     I  think  she  must  have  been  quite  a  middle- 
-aged  or  even  elderly  engine,  and  had  been  peraevefi^ing  for  many 
years  before  I  made  her  acquaintance.  She  was  the  property  of  the 
Dowlais  Iron  Company,  whose  records  might,  perhaps,  yield  some 
trace  about  her,  which  would  be  worth  the  trouble  of  seeking. 
She  was  not  beautiful  to  the  \'iew  by  any  means,  and  did  not 
pretend  to  be.     She  was  covered  over  with  a  sort  of  black  and 
hvown  corrosive  eruption,  as   though  she  were  internally  not 
in  a  healthy  state,  but  decidedly  feverish,  arising,  no  doubt, 
from  the  indigestible  nature  of  her  meals  of  coals  and  dirty 
water,  and  the  high  temperature  which  her  vitals  had  to  attain 
before  she  could  be  aroused  into  vigorous  exi.stence.     She  was 
not  pampered,  and  coddled,  and  cleaned,  and  scoured,  and  kept 
free  from  incrustation  and  dirt,  like  the  present  green  and  gold 
■specimens  of  her  family;    but,  notwithstanding,  she  did  her 
duty  well  at  the  time  I  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  admiring  and 
■wondering  in  her  presence  ;  that  duty  being  the  dragging  of  a 
long  train  of  trams  heavily  laden  with  iron  bars,  every  week- 
day morning,  from  the  Dowlais  Works  to  the  Glamorgansliire 
Basin,  where  the  bars  were  stowed  away  in  barges  for  trans- 
mission to  Cardiff  by  the  canal,  and  to  return  in  the  course  of 
the  day  in  the  van  of  a  similar  train  of  empty  wagons.     She 
performed  this  duty  with  sufficient  punctuality,  and  as  much 
alacrity  as  was  expected  or  demanded  of  her,  it  being  a  period 
when  no  one  wanted  to  go  to  London  and  back  in  one  day 
from  Merthyr,  or  even  to  Cardiff  and  back.     That  she  took 
several  hours  to  perform  this  operation  is  no  proof  of  a  want  of 
appreciation  of  the  value  of  time  on  her  part,  as  time  was 
then  estimated.     She  was  in  advance  rather  than  behind  the 
age.     The  tramway  she  travelled  over  was  in  its  construction 
by  no  means  conducive  to  speed,  bearing  as  it  did  no  kind  of 
comparison  with  the  smooth  railway  that  the  pampered  loco- 
motives of  this  age  skim  over.     Its  construction  having  been 
*  made  with  but  slight  attention  to  gradients  or  curves,  there 
were  intervals  of  steep  ascents  and  descents,  such  as  would 


230        A  DAY  WITH  THE  FIRST  LOCOMOTIVE. 

shock  the  engineers  of  this  day.  The  old  tramway  over  which 
the  "  Perseverance  "  travelled  had,  in  addition  to  the  outer 
lines  of  iron  plates,  an  inner  or  oentml  line  of  deep  iron  "cogs" 
(an  invention  of  Trevit hick's),  into  which  fitted  a  cogged  wheel, 
which  workeil  under  the  body  of  the  engine.  This  arrangement 
was  intended  to  increase  the  bite  of  the  wheels  onto  the  metals 
in  ascending,  while  it  oftered  resistance  in  descending.  Th« 
heavily  laden  trams  had  no  brakes  to  them,  and  the  engine 
had  no  i)ower  to  check  their  speed  beyond  her  own  weight. 
To  obviate  this  deficiency,  a  number  of  short  stout  stumps  of 
wood  were  carried  on  the  iron  bars,  and  inserted  by  the 
attendants  in  going  down  hill  into  circular  holes  in  the  wheels, 
which  caused  them  to  drag  along  instead  of  rolling,  which 
stmnps  were  removed  l>efore  reaching  level  ground.  To  pilot 
the  train  to  its  destination  was,  therefore,  a  work  requiring 
much  care  and  judgment. 

One  quality  or  virtue  the  old  "  Perseverance  "  possessed  in 
a  supreme  degree — for  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  any  member 
of  her  kindred,  either  before  or  at\er  her  days,  could  compete 
with  her  in  this  accomplishment.  This  was  a  capacity  of 
making  her  approach  known  to  the  entire  neighbourhood  which 
she  was  about  to  invade.  It  was  done  not  by  loud  whistling, 
as  at  present,  but  by  a  prodigious  noise  and  clatter,  which 
awakened  every  echo  in  the  town  of  Merth\T  and  the  sur- 
roundins:  hills.  The  liberal  use  she  made  of  this  virtue  left  no 
excuse  open  to  anyone,  or  anything,  for  not  getting  out  of 
her  path  in  good  time.  Xor  was  the  noise  altogether  sui>erfluou8, 
for  the  tramway  was  a  favourite  playground  for  hundreds  of 
youngsters.  At  about  the  time  Merthyrtmdesmen  would  be  at 
breakfast,  a  rumbling  hollow  sound  might  be  expected  to  assail 
their  ears,  which  gradually  increased  in  volume  as  Penydarren 
was  being  passed,  growing  into  its  loudest  as  the  "  Perseverance'* 
and  her  train  swept  round  the  corner  by  Morlais  brook,  from 
which  point  it  rolled  like  a  hurricane,  loud  enough  to  wake  the 
dead  in  the  cemetery  above  (had  there  been  any  dead  there 
then  to  wake).  Soon  after  the  sounds  began  to  subside,  and 
gradually  ceased  altogether  as  the  train  pulled  up,  as  it  always  did, 
just  above  the  Court-house  at  the  bottom  of  Twynrodin,  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  to  take  breath  and  rest.  There  was 
another  object  wliich  concerned  the  attendants  in  stopping  at  this 
point,  for  though  the  "  Perseverance  "  did  not  pretend  to  take 
passengers — indeed,  had  no  conveniences  whatever  for  doing  so 
— ^yet  numbers  of  persons  did  avail  themselves  of  a  lift  on  their 
way,  which  they  were  permitted  to  do  for  a  few  pence  of  beer 
money,  if  the  accommodation  of  merely  seating  themselves  on 
the  iron  bars  was  thought  sufficient.  Those  travellers  required 
no  Bradshaw  or  local  guide  to  direct  them,  the  noisy  notice 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  FIRST  LOCOMOTn^.        231 

given  by  the  approach  of  the  engine  being  sufficient  for  all 
purposes. 

I  had  many  times,  boy-like,  wistfully  gazed  after  this 
*Mengthened'lurement  long  drawn  out;"  had  envied  its  passengers 
and  longed  for  a  trip  with  the  "  Perseverance,"  and  I  had 
inwardly  resolved  that  the  first  holiday  I  could  procure  should 
see  me  seat^  on  the  iron  bars,  determined  to  accompany  my 
fascinating  locomotive  whithersoever  she  might  choose  to  take 
me.  And  as  "  everything  comes  to  him  that  waits,"  so  did  a  day 
come,  a  glorious  summer's  day,  when  my  secret  longings  were 
gratified,  and  a  new  chapter  in  my  experience  commenced. 
**  Anticipation's  restless  mood  "  ran  away  with  my  sleep  on  the 
night  preceding,  and  I  rose  betimes,  more  eager  for  my  ride 
than  for  my  breakfast.  In  due  course  the  rumbling  sounds 
reached  my  ears,  and  Twynrodin  Station  found  me  awaiting  the 
**Perseverance,"  and  her  clattering  load.  I  bargained  with  one 
of  the  guards  to  take  me  the  dual  journey  for  the  modest  sum 
of  ninepence,  and  felt  as  happy  as  though  I  was  bound  for  the 
Garden  of  the  Hesperides. 

There  were  a  good  many  passengers  spread  over  the  length 
of  the  train,  the  nearest  to  me  being  a  womcin  with  a  baby  in 
her  arms,  and  three  other  little  ones  whose  anguish  and  cries 
on  parting  with  their  "  daddy,"  who  came  to  see  them  off,  were 
almost  heartrending.  This  poor  woman  and  children  were 
being  sent  to  their  old  home  near  Llantrisant,  to  escape  from 
the  fear  of  the  cholera  then  raging  at  Merthyr,  the  husband 
and  father  remaining  behind  to  win  bread  for  them.  The  scene 
was  most  demonstrative  in  its  apparent  misery,  though  it 
appeared  to  me  at  the  time — such  is  the  selfishness  of  boyhood — 
as  an  intrusion  on  my  enjoyment.  The  children  cried  inces- 
santly until  the  noise  of  the  train  drowned  the  sounds,  when 
they  left  off,  fairly  beaten  on  their  own  strong  ground.  The 
mother  made  quite  a  confidant  of  me,  telling  me  everything 
that  was  nearest  to  her  heart,  which  had  reference  chiefly  to 
the  domestic  miseries  which  her  husband  would  have  to 
undergo  without  her  presence  to  manage  for  him.  So 
unwilling  am  I  to  admit  anything  derogatory  to  the 
"  Perseverance,"  that  I  regret  being  obliged  to  state  that  at 
times  she  was  somewhat  skittish  and  uncertain  in  her  conduct. 
She  would  not  always  start  readily  when  invited  to,  or  stop 
when .  requested.  She  would  sometimes,  after  starting,  move 
along  in  a  fitful  irregular  manner,  causing  a  doubt  in  the  mind 
whether  the  mood  was  sportive  or  mischievous.  On  this 
momentous  occasion  she  started  fairly,  and  even  smoothly  ;  but 
she  reserved  to  herself  the  right  to  display  her  peculiarities  and 
idiosyncrasies  at  any  convenient  opportunity  during  the 
journey.    Excepting  that  the  vast  cloud  of  smoke  and  steam 


•232         A  PAY  WITH  THE  FIRST  LOCOMOTn'K 

which  she  emitted  wa>  sometimes  Mown  into  the  faces  of  her 
lKi>sengor>  by  tl:e  lig^ht  brerrzr*  that  prevailed,  causing  an 
iin[>lea5;\nt  sensativ^u  t«^  ry»^>  and  throit,  her  progress  was  satis- 
factory enough  until  the  Plvm'>utL  Iron  Works  were  reached.  At 
this  p^>int  there  was  a  Lniir  low  tunnel  to  i>ass  through,  running 
apparently  right  und»»meath  the  blast  furnaces,  and  here 
the  tirst  and  only  si^riously  unpleasant  experience  of  the  trip 
was  obtaineii.  The  '•  Perseveranoe  "  travelling  very  slowlj^,  and 
ejecting  a  \*:ist  Ixxiy  of  ^m•yKr•  steam,  and  sparks,  the  tunnel 
was  c«>niplt*tely  tillt\L  and  t^.e  eyes,  ears,  and  lungs  of  the 
passengers  were  cliargevi  witli  tlie  unpleasant  mixture.  The 
heat  was  intense,  with  a  sens;ition  of  beinsT  half-roasted  and 
parlx»iled  at  the  s;ime  time.  The  little  children  were  nearly 
as}»hyxiated,and  had  grown  purple  in  the  face, 'when  the  open  air 
was  reach eii  once  more.  After  this,  for  two  or  three  miles 
thiuijs  went  snuxnldv  euouirh.  Clamoanislv  were  the  Pentre- 
Ixieh  forsjes,  the  l>uflrvn  furnaces,  and  the  (then)  small  hamlet 
of  TriHHiyrhiw  i^asseii.  Shoitly  after  a  bend  in  the  valley  shut 
out  Merthvr,  with  all  its  smokv  and  noi^v  surroundincjs,  as 
completely  as  though  it  had  been  rifty  miles  away,  and  the 
clatierincr  tmin  seemed  like  an  offensive  in\-asion  of  the  fresh 
pure  loveliness  of  nature,  which  the  Taff  A'alley  at  this  point 
presents  to  the  eye.  Below,  on  the  right  of  the  steep,  sloping 
bank,  on  the  side  of  which  the  tramway  travelled,  flowed  the  Taff 
river,  a  shallow,  dirtv  stream,  but  doin^:  its  best  to  induce  the 
bright  sun  to  cause  a  little  shimmering  on  its  surface.  High 
up  on  the  opposite  bank  was  the  canal,  along  which  glided  the 
slow  bar^res,  each  dra\M\  bv  a  sinijle  horse,  driven  bv  a  lad, 
happy  as  a  sky-lark,  carolling  blithely  a  Welsh  song.  Dotted 
about  the  landscapi*  at  intervals  were  small  white-washed  fann 
houses,  so  brightly  white  that  they  literally  seemed  to  blink  in 
the  sun's  ravs.  But  few  ti*ees  of  anv  size  were  to  be  seen, 
excepting  in  positions  very  difficult  to  get  at,  for  the  woods  had 
all  been  demided  of  timber  to  supply  charcoal  to  the  ironworks, 
before  the  invention  of  the  hot  blast.  J^rushwooii  and  under- 
wood, however,  sprouted  up  everywhere,  concealing  the  scars 
and  ravages  left  by  the  woodman  on  the  beauty  of  the  land- 
scape, and  the  quick  growing  silver  birches  displayed  their 
tender  feather}-  crowns  on  the  breasts  of  the  Coomhe,  on  either 
hand.  Incongruous  as  the  noisy  engine  seemed,  contrasted  with 
the  peaceful  aspect  of  the  scene,  the  fiured  and  feathered 
denizens  of  the  place  had  become  quite  reconciled  to  the 
intrusion,  for  neither  bird  nor  beast  was  in  the  least  fliuried 
by  our  advent.  It  is  curious  to  observe  how  readily  the  non- 
progressive creatures  (so  called  without  intending  to  traverse  any 
Darwinian  theory)  adapt  themselves  to  what  man  terms  the 
"  march  of  civilisation."     Though  fellows  with  man  in  regard  to 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  FIRST  LOCOMOTIVE.        233 

his  mortality,  how  different  is  their  fate  !  The  nest  of  the  bird 
was  as  perfect, — 

**  When  wild  in  woodn,  the  noble  savage  ran," 

as  it  is  now,  and  defies  science  and  progress  to  reform  or  improve 
upon  it.  While  man  fussily  and  toilsomely  is  bent  upon  change 
and  advancement,  the  improving  of  his  surroundings  and  the 
acquisition  of  wealth,  which  does  not  seem  to  make  him  much 
happier, — 

**  The  lark  still  car<)l«  the  self -same  song, 
That  it  did  to  the  miciiMed  Adam." 

Verily  the  ^'  Lords  of  Creation  "  pay  a  heavy  penalty  for  the 
exalted  position  they  have  been  fated  to  occupy,  for  in  sustain- 
ing their  continued  fight  with,  and  control  over,  the  forces  of 
nature,  there  is  no  cessation  or  rest  for  them,  nor  can  the  time 
for  the  attainment  of  a  perfect  adaptability  between  them  and 
the  universe,  such  as  the  humblest  animals  and  birds  enjoy,  be 
indicated  in  the  highest  imaginative  flights  their  prophets  and 
poets  have  indulged  in. 

But  to  return  to  our  subject.  The  "Perseverance  "  after  having 
travelled  satisfactorily,  though  slowly,  for  a  mile  or  two  below 
Troedyrhiw,  began  to  give  evidence  of  failing  powers ;  and, 
either  from  fatigue,  from  too  heavy  a  load  ;  or  from  not  being 
properly  and  sufficiently  supplied  in  due  proportions  with  the 
generators  of  her  motive  force,  displayed  a  decided  disposition 
to  come  to  a  standstill.  There  was  much  excitement  amongst 
the  attendants,  much  stirring  of  the  fires,  which  produced 
additional  smoke,  followed  by  a  few  snorts  and  short  spurts  on 
the  part  of  the  engine,  but  spite  of  all,  she  came  to  a  full  stop. 
An  unpleasant  thought  crossed  my  mind  that  it  was  possible  I 
might  be  deprived  of  my  ride  and  money,  but  I  was  (quickly 
re-assured  by  an  attendant  that  this  conduct  on  the  part  of  the 
**  Perseverance  "  was  not  unusual,  that,  in  fact,  it  had  been 
anticipated  and  provided  for  beforehand.  The  fires  were  heaped 
up,  a  few  buckets  of  water  were  obtained  and  poured  in,  and 
an  iron  chain  or  cable,  some  forty  yards  long,  which  had 
peacefully  lain  coiled  upon  one  of  the  trams,  the  purpose  of 
which  I  had  been  speculating  about,  was  requisitioned  and 
brought  into  use.  The  "Perseverance  "  was  then  detached  from 
the  train,  the  trams  were  forced  back  as  closely  to  each  other  as 
possible,  and  the  heavy  jmssengers  had  to  descend  to  lighten 
the  load.  One  end  of  the  chain  was  then  made  fast  to  the 
engine,  and  the  other  to  the  trams.  With  a  cry  of  "  Hold  fast,'* 
the  "Perseverance"  was  then  started  at  full  speed,  dragging  only 
the  light  weight  of  the  chain,  which,  when  it  got  to  the  end  of 
its  tether,  by  its  impetus  gave  the  trams  such  a  violent  tug 
that  they  one  and  all,  by  a  succession  of  jerks  and  jolts,  joined 
in  a  chase  after  the  '^  Perseverance,"  and  for  a  time  it  seemed  as 


234        A  DAY  WITH  THE  FIEST  LOCOMOTIVE. 

though  the  engine  and  train  were  actually  racing  each  other, 
and  that  the  engine  was  getting  the  best  of  it.  This  contriYancev 
as  it  well  deser\'ed,  having  turned  out  quite  successful,  the  usual 
relations  between  engine  and  train  were  after  a  while  resumed; 
the  piissengers  remounted,  and  with  abundant  clatter  the  curve 
at  Quaker's  Yard  was  rounded,  and  the  Glamorganshire  Basin 
reached  without  any  further  incident.  Here  all  the  passengers 
dei>arted,  taking  their  separate  ways.  Having  become  quite 
friendly  with  the  children  on  the  journey,  their  grief  after  their 
father  was  renewed  now  at  parting  with  me,  which  grief  I 
assuaged  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  by  dividing  between  them 
that  which  was  to  have  been  my  dinner,  and  which  I  had  carried 
wann,  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  newsi)aper  in  my  trousers  pocket. 

Having  several  hours  now  on  my  hands,  I  proceeded  to  kill 
time  in  the  best  way  I  could.  I  inspected  that  Titanic  staircase, 
the  siTies  of  kwks  on  the  canal.  I  wandered  up  the  valley  of 
the  Cvnon,  and  I  climbed  the  hill  on  the  Eglwysilan  side,  but 
especially  was  I  interested  in  watching  the  fish,  which  seemed 
to  be  almost  tame,  in  a  railed  pond  by  Navigation  House.  Mid- 
day arrived  and  passed  and  I  began  to  regret  my  neglect  of 
lireakfast,  and  my  over  liberality  in  parting  with  my  dinner,  for 
the  keen  cravings  of  hunger  were  growing  upon  me  rapidly. 
I  went  to  a  public  house,  but  the  licensed  victualler  wns 
engaged  in  a  household  quarrel,  a  sort  of  domestic  battle  royal, 
and  could  not  attend  to  me.  Wandering  about  dejected,  I  at 
last  ventured  to  ask  a  benevolent  looking  gentleman  who  was 
superintending  the  shipment  of  iron  bars  into  barges  if  he 
could  tell  me  where  I  might  get  food.  Instead  of  answering 
he  questioned  me,  then  took  me  by  the  hand,  led  me  to  his 
home,  where  his  dinner  was  just  being  served,  and  there  gave 
me  mountain  mutton  and  bogberry  pudding.  This  kind  act  he 
jirobably  forgot  in  a  week,  but  I  have  stored  it  as  one  of  the 
things  I  must  ever  feel  grateful  for.  His  name,  I  believe,  was 
*' Jones;"  not  an  uncommon  one  in  Wales,  nor  was  the  act 
j)erhaps  very  uncommon  ;  but  it  stands  out  distinct  in  my  mind, 
and  the  recollection  of  it : — 

"  RuiiH  molten  Htill  in  memory's  mould 
And  will  not  cool, 
Until  thM  heart  it'^elf  is  cold 
In  Lethe's  p<^ol." 

To  the  shade  of  that  Mr.  Jones  (for  he  must  long  ago  have  left 
a  world  he  adorned)  I  acknowledge  a  debt.  "  I  was  a  stranger 
and  he  took  me  in, "  fed,  and  sent  me  on  my  way  rejoicing.  It 
would  ill  become  me  to  make  a  display  of  the  effect  that  act  of 
kindness  has  had  upon  me  through  life.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  I 
never  see  or  think  of  a  boy  wanting  a  dinner  but  my  mind 
reverts  to  good,  kind  Mr.  Jones,  whose  warm  soft  hand  as  he 
took  mine  I  almost  feel  as  I  write.    "  Bogbeny  pudding !"    Do 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  FIEST  LOCOMOTIVE.        235 

they  make  it  still  in  that  neighbourhood  ?  What  have  they  done 
to  deserve  the  possession  of  this  speciality,  for  such  it  must  be  ? 
Is  it  a  special  Providential  reward  for  hospitality  ?  I  have  never 
met  with  or  heard  of  it  elsewhere  in  all  my  wanderings.  It 
must  be  as  peculiarly  local  as  paU  de  foie  graa  is  to  Strasburg, 
or  hecaficas  to  Florence,  and  for  excellence  is  like  Ambrosia, 
food  fit  for  the  Gods. 

The  retiuTi  journey  had  in  it  nothing  worth  chronicling — if 
indeed  any  of  the  day's  occurrences  deserve  that  distinction. 
They  have,  however,  seemed  to  me  to  mark  in  some  feeble 
degree  the  enormous  change  that  less  than  fifty  years  have 
wrought  in  the  Ijocomotive.  I  have  thought  that  the  picture  I 
have  tried  to  draw  in  words  of  the  "  Perseverance  "  and  her 
ways  might  assist  the  young  folks  bom  to  the  privileges  of 
to-day  to  attain  to  some  notion  of  the  blessings  of  their  lot. 

Saint  Athan.  John  Howells. 


STUDIES    IX    LEWIS    MORRIS. 

By  thk  Rev.  J.  Cvnddylan  Jones. 


As  this  magazine  chiefly  concerns  itself  about  Wales,  it  will 
not  bo  amiss  to  direct  spei^'ial  attention  to  the  poetical  works  of 
one  of  its  most  distinguished  sons.  That  Lewis  Morris  is  one 
of  the  best  of  contemporarv  pix^ts  there  can  be  no  question  ;  his 
name  may  be  ranktHl  without  excuse  or  aiK)logy  with  those  of 
Tennyson  and  Browning.  His  iK>etry,  however,  is  that  of  a 
scholar,  and  teems  with  allusions  to  history,  philosophy,  and 
classic  lore ;  consiHiuently  it  conveys  not  the  full  burden  of  its 
meaning  to  readers  whose  sphere  of  study  has  been  somewhat 
limit  eil.  The  Welsh  bards,  many  of  them,  evince  considerable 
ability,  but  little  acquaintance  with  human  speculations,  and 
therefore  draw  entirely  upon  nature  for  their  metaphors.  But 
Lewis  Morris  po>sesses,  as  well  as  remarkable  power,  a  vast  and 
witle  cultun\  History,  philosophy,  criticism,  art,  pour  their 
treasures  at  his  feet ;  his  imaginative  forms  are  therefore  more 
varietl,  and  rei|uire  a  certain  amount  of  scholarship  to  enable  us 
duly  to  appreciate  them.  I  am  anxious  that  all  the  young 
people  (^f  Wales  of  both  sexes  should  "  read,  mark,  learn,  and 
inwardly  digest "  his  works,  and  it  is  with  a  view  to  help  them 
that  I  write  these  papers. 

The  first  poem  I  propose  as  a  fit  subject  for  study  is  Tht 
^yandevery  the  longest  and  probably  the  best  in  the  first 
volume  Air.  Alorris  gave  to  the  world.  The  purport  of  it  is  to 
describe  the  experiences  of  the  soul  in  her  eager  search  for  truth. 
Every  sincere,  honest  student  will  at  once  feel  himself  in  living 
sympathy  with  it.     It  begins  thus: — 

*'  I  reared  my  virgin  Soul  on  dainty  food, 
I  fed  her  with  rich  fruit  and  ffarnci'ai  ^<>fd 
From  those  fair  gardens  somh  by  pious  care 
Of  precious  souls  of  old." 

I  have  italicised  the  words  "garnered  gold  "to  point  out  a  slight 
mixture  of  metaphors ;  neither  the  body  nor  the  soul  feeds  on 
**gold,"  whether  garnered  or  not.  The  meaning  nevertheless 
is  plain — the  poet  had  nourished  his  soul  on  the  choicest 
thoughts  of  the  ablest  thinkers  who  had  preceded  him. 

In  his  desire  to  discover  truth,  soul-satisfying  truth,  he  first 


STUDIES  IN  LEWIS  MOEEIS.  237 

explores  History.  In  the  second  verse  he  alludes  to  the  history 
of  creation  as  recorded  in  Genesis  ;  in  the  third,  to  the  early 
Nimrods — who  were  ^  mighty  hunters  before  the  Lord  " — and 
the  ever-enduring  pyramids  of  Egypt ;  in  the  fourth,  to 
Greece — 

"  The  fairy  commonwealth,  where  Freedom  first 
Inspired  the  ready  hand  and  glowing  tongue 
To  a  diviner  art  and  Hweeter  song 
Than  men  have  feigned  or  sung." 

This  verse  contains  a  very  strildng  thought,  a  thought  amply 
confirmed  by  all  the  history  of  the  world — that  only  under  the 
benign  sway  of  freedom  will  learning  and  the  arts  flourish. 
\Miere  there  is  no  freedom  for  the  body  there  is  no  freedom  for 
the  mind;  deprive  a  people  of  their  liberty,  and  eloquence, 
poetry  and  art  pine  and  finally  die.  So  intimate  is  the  union 
between  body  and  mind  that  to  fetter  the  one  is  to  shackle  the 
other  ;  only  free  nations  produce  greaty*men. 

In  the  fourth  verse  reference  is  made  to  pagan  Rome  ;  in  the 
sixth  to  the  "  Middle  Ages  "  when  "  learning  dozed  ";  in  the 
seventh  and  the  two  following,  to  tlie  Keformation  and  its  results. 
But  notwithstanding  his  long  and  diligent  search  he  failed  to 
discover  the  truth  he  longed  for : 

"  For  sonietliing  said,  '  the  Past  is  dead  and  g<»ne, 
Let  the  dead  bury  their  dead,  why  strive  with  Fate  ? 
AVhy  seek  to  feed  the  children  on  the  husks 
Their  rude  forefathers  ate  V  " 

Did  the  forefathers  eat  the  "  husks  "  ?  Is  it  not  more  probable 
that  they  ate  the  kernels  and  left  the  "husks"  for  their 
posterity  ?  That,  I  apprehend,  is  the  meaning  of  the  poet ; 
for  to  all  ancient  history  there  was  a  kernel  of  truth,  as  Mr. 
]Morris  well  knows,  for  in  the  Epic  of  Hades  does  he  not  with 
marvellous  insight  and  power  draw  out  the  inner  thoughts  of 
the  old  mjrthsr  And  where  he  cannot  divine  the  ancient 
thought,  does  he  not  with  consummate  skill  insert  into  it  the 
modem? 

"And  if,  hearing  the  tale  we  told  ourselves, 
We  marvel  how  the  monstrous  fable  grew  ; 
How  in  these  far-off  years  shall  men  discern 
The  fictive  from  the  true?" 

Here  the  poet  distinguishes  between  fiction  and  truth. 
Historians  experience  almost  insurmountable  difficulties  in 
separating  satisfactorily  legend  from  fact,  myth  from  history. 
But  the  truth  the  poet  is  in  quest  of,  I  imagine,  is  not  fact  as 
distinct  from  legend,  but  the  truth  underlying  both  fact  and 
legend  ;  at  all  events,  this  last  only  quenches  the  thirst  of  the 
fioul.  Oftentimes  more  truth  is  found  in  fiction  than  in  fact, 
i^  myths  than  in  history,  in  novels  than  in  newspapers. 
Personally,  I  find  more  soul-satisfying  truth  in  the  legends  of 
Greece  than  in  its  history — true  poetry  always  contains  higher^ 


238  STUDIES  Df  LEWIS  MORRIS. 

fuller  truth  than  any  record  of  facts,  however  acciirately  and 
brilliantly  rendered. 

The  ix>et  continues  his  search  next  in  the  domain  of  Art : — 

''Then  turned  I  V>  the  bmad  domain  of  Art, 
To  seek  if  h^ply  truth  \ax  hidden  there  ; 
Well  knowing;:  that  of  old  clc^^e  links  connect 
The  true  thimr»  and  the  fair." 

A  natural  relationship  exists  between  the  true  and  the  fair ;  at 
bottom  they  are  one.  In  the  actual  world,  howe'»  er,  they  arc 
often  separated,  the  organic  connection  ha\'ing  been  broken* 
*'  ^Mien  the  woman  saw  that  the  tree  was  pleasant  to  the  eyes, 
she  took  of  the  fniit  thereof,  and  did  eat :"  and  ever  since  the 
true  and  the  fair  are  as  often  sundered  as  united.  The  Devil 
comes  as  an  Angel  of  Light.  Falsehood  in  its  nakedness  is 
always  hideous  ;  therefore,  it  clothes  itself  in  beauty ;  still  the 
beauty  is  in  the  vesture,  not  in  the  essence.  On  the  other 
hand,  truth  in  its  nakedness  is  always  fiiir;  but  it  is,  alas!  often 
clothed  in  rags.  Still  the  ugliness  is  in  the  rags,  not  in  the 
angel  underneath.  To  make  falsehood  appear  attractive,  you 
must  clothe  it ;  to  make  truth  appear  attractive,  you  must  un- 
clothe it.  It  is  the  work  of  everv  earnest  thinker  to  tear  oflF 
the  clothes,  ofttimes  the  grave  clothes,  in  which  the  truth  is 
bound  hand  and  foot,  and  let  it  go  free. 

Did  the  poet  find  the  satisfaction  his  soul  was  craving  for  ? 
No. 

**  S«>  I  irrow  wearv  of  the  j^lid  thronir, 
Deep-biismmed  maids  and  stal\»-art  hvn^es  tall. 
One  ty|K.»  I  ^aw,  one  vartlilv  animal  bval 
Of  comeliness  in  iill  I" 

*'  Deep-bosomed  "  is  a  favourite  adjective  of  the  author  and  is 
freijuently  applied  by  him  to  the  female  sex.  Is  it  the  same  as 
*'  full-bosomed  "?  However,  he  points  out  that  the  beauty  of 
Greek  art  was  sensuous  at  best,  ofttimes  sensual,  never 
spiritual.  Am  I  right  in  opining  that  the  pre-Christian  world 
possessed  not  fine  art  ?  Art  it  doubtless  had,  strong,  pure,  severe, 
but  not  fine.  Fine  art,  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  creation  of 
Christianity : — 

*'  S<^  f n^m  soulless  marbles,  white  and  bare 
And  ct^ld,  toojH'rfect  art,  I  timied  and  souirht 
The  canvases,  where  Chri>tian  han(L$  have  left 
The  fniits   of  holv  thouvrht" 

The  poet  in  these  lines  hits,  intentionally,  no  doubt,  upon  one 
marked  difference  between  Pagan  and  Christian  Art.  The 
prevailing  form  of  Art  among  the  ancients  was  sculpture ;  the 
prevailing  form  among  modems  is  painting.  How  came  the 
canvas  to  supersede  the  marble  ?  Because  it  is  better  adapted 
to  set  forth  the  finer,  warmer  \irtues.  Sculpture  is  best  fitted 
to  represent  strength  and  severity — the  canlinal  virtues  of 
ancient  culture ;  but  painting  best  represents  love  and  tender- 


STUDIES  IN  LEWIS  MORRIS.  239 

ness — the  root-virtues  of  Christian  civilisation.  But  neither 
in  sculpture  nor  painting  can  the  poet  behold  full-orbed  Truth ; 
the  old  pain  is  still  gnawing  at  the  core  of  his  being. 

He  then  turns  from  painting  to  music,  another  branch  of 
the  Fine  Arts  ;  but  he  does  not  find  rest  even  here.  After  two 
or  three  verses  of  exquisite  thought,  he  declares — 

*'  The  art  was  partial,  not  iiimien.se, 
As  Truth  is,  or  as  Beauty,  but  confined 
To  this  our  later  Europe,  not  spread  out 

Wide  as  the  >\'idth  of  niind." 

I  am  not  sure  that  I  fully  understand  these  lines.  However, 
I  seem  to  gather  from  them  two  ideas.  First,  whereas  all  men 
are  capable,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  of  perceiving  Truth 
and  Beauty,  all  are  not  capable  of  enjoying  music.  Frequent 
evidence  is  afforded  by  Mr.  Morris  of  his  own  keen  appreciation 
of  harmonious  sounds  ;  but  I  have  known  poets,  whose  ears  are 
most  sensitive  to  rhythm  and  cadence  in  speech,  totally  unable 
to  tell  one  tune  from  another.  Second,  music  belongs  to  our 
*'  later  Europe."  We  have  no  evidence  that  music  was  largely 
cultivated  in  the  pre-Christian  world;  no  oratorio,  no  air, 
however  simple,  has  floated  down  to  us  from  the  ages  before 
the  Incarnation — a  rather  significant  fact.  True,  we  read  in 
Genesis  of  harps  and  organs ;  in  the  Kings  and  Chronicles  of 
the  vast  choirs  organised  by  the  poet-king  for  temple  purposes. 
We  know  well  that  Pythagoras  and  Plato  philosophised  deeply 
on  musical  notes,  and  yet  the  fact  remains  that  high-class 
music  is  confined  to  our  "  later  Europe."  What  is  limited  to 
one  continent,  and  a  few  centuries  of  time,  cannot  have  been 
designed  to  meet  and  fulfil  the  deep  yearnings  of  universal 
humanity. 

Since  Art  has  disappointed  him,  he  will  next  turn  his  attention 
to  Philosophy : 

"  The  hoary  thinkers  of  the  past  I  knew; 
Whose  dim  vast  thoughts,  to  too  great  stature  grown, 
Flashed  i-ound  as  fitful  lightning  flashes  round 
The  black  vault  of  the  Unkno^'n." 

This  describes  exactly  the  herculean  efforts  of  Pythagoras  and 
his  disciples  to  solve  the  problem  of  existence.  "Dim  vast 
thoughts  "  were  struggling  like  giants  in  the  gloom  to  reveal 
themselves — too  vast  for  the  ancients  to  define  them,  too  dim 
for  modem  historians  of  philosophy  to  present  an  intelligible 
outline  of  them.  The  old  philosophers,  at  their  best,  were  only 
the  lightnings,  Christ  alone  is  the  Light,  of  the  World. 

'*  The  fair  fantastic  Commonwealthi  too  fair 
For  earth,  wherein  the  wise  bore  rule — 
So  wine  that  oftentimes  the  sage  himself 
Shows  duller  than  the  fouL" 

How  true  of  Plato  and  his  Republic.  Plato  himself  believed,  it 
18  said,  in  his  vision,  and  wished  for  an  opportunity  of  reducing 


240  STUDIES  IN  LE)^'IS  MORRIS. 

it  into  actuality ;  but  certainly  no  modem  believes  in  it.  How 
often  and  suddenly  the  poet-thinker  descends  from  the  white 
peaks  of  pure  thought  to  wallow  in  the  mire  I  Conjugal  love  in  the 
modem,  which  is  the  Christian,  sense,  was  practically  unknown 
to  the  wisest  and  most  virtuous  of  the  heat  lien.  In  treating  of 
it  "  the  sage  himself  shows  duller  than  the  fool." 

'*  And  that  white  sm»u1,  clothed  with  a  satjr's  form. 
Which  shi'iie  l)eu»^;Ath  the  laiirtU  day  by  day, 
Andf  fired  with  buminLT  faith  in  Gtjd  and  Right, 
I)<iubtcd  uitru's  doubt rt  away.'* 

How  far  it  is  right  to  designate  S<)crates  a  ^ white  soul"  is 
problematical.  Whiteness  is  generally  associated  with  saintli- 
ness  ;  and  Socrates  was  not  a  saint,  nor  was  any  ancient  what- 
ever. Sages,  heroes,  orators,  warriors,  patriots,  Greece  had  in 
abundance ;  but  saints  none.  However,  the  epigram,  "  he 
doubted  men's  doubts  awav,"  is  as  true  as  it  is  terse.  In  the 
forum  and  under  the  '"^ laurels,'  the  man  with  the  ** satyr's 
form''  talked  of  God  and  the  Kight — for  he  was  a  moral,  not  a 
mental,  philosopher — and  for  the  first  time  awoke  the  heathen 
coiiscience.  To  him  belongs  the  honour  of  introducing  the  idea 
of  Kight  into  life  and  literature.  In  earlier  ages  men  saw  not 
this  idea  save  in  fitful  transient  glimpses.  Homer  knows  it 
not ;  his  men  are  heroes  and  cowards,  strong  and  weak,  never 
good  and  bad.  To  Socrates  pertains  tlie  distinction  of  making 
the  idea  of  Moral  Kight  rise  in  its  awful  grandeur  upon  the 
heathen  world.  Then  follow  references  to  Aristotle  and  the 
Alexandrians,  and  the  deadly  effect  the  Aristotelian  logic  had 
upon  subsequent  thought — 

"  A  barren  meth^nl,  bindinjij  down 
Men's  thought)  with  Hueh  a  chain, 

"  That  knowledge  sank  Kclf-dlain,  like  some  stout  knight 
^'I*  *^t?<^'<J  ^^y  hin  hamcsH  ;  nor  c«)uld  wit  devi.se 
Aught  but  ignoble  ciuibbles,  subtly  mixed 
With  dull  theologiert." 

Then  he  passe  s  on  to  Bacon  and  the  revival  of  Philosophy  under 
the  "  new  method."  Did  he  find  the  truth  he  needed  ?  Nay ; 
the  ancient  doubt 

•*  Rose  to  a  giant's  Ktreiigth,  and  ulway?*  cried — 
You  shall  ni»t  find  the  Truth  here,  Aw  i<  g«>ne  ; 
What  glimiwes  men  had,  was  ii'^er^  ><ince,  and  these 
Cio  idly  babbling  on. 

**  Jangles  of  uppouite  creeds  alike  untrue, 
(Quaint  puzzles,  meaningless  lognmachies. 
Kffurts  to  pierce  the  infinite  core  of  things 
With  purblind  finite  eyes.'* 

He  next  investigates  Nature.  History,  Art,  Philosophy  have 
failed  him  in  the  hour  of  his  dire  need.  Will  modem  Science 
behave  better  ?  He  studies  biology,  chemistry,  astronomy, 
geology,  botany  ;  he  goes  the  round  of  all  the  sciences,  but  does 
he  find  the  truth  ?    Does  Science  reveal  to  him  the  Cause  of 


STUDIES  IN  LEWIS  MORRIS.  241 

things  ?  No ;  only  their  outward  shows.  It  discloses  not 
substances,  but  phenomena.  The  old  question,  "  Why  was  this* 
man  bom  blind  ?"  in  a  different  form  presses  itself  on  the  poet, 
and  Science  can  offer  no  answer.  No  philosophy  is  more 
fashionable  in  the  present  day  than  Positivism.  The  central 
doctrine  of  Positivism  is  evolution,  and  the  fundamental  principle 
of  evolution  is  the  "  survival  of  the  fittest,"  or,  as  Lewis  Morris 
presents  it,  "  Salvation  for  the  strong."  The  welfare  of  the  All 
in  the  destruction  of  the  one :  that  is  the  Positive  philosophy. 
The  welfare  of  the  All  in  the  salvation  of  the  one :  that  is 
Christianity.  Salvation  for  the  strong :  that  is  Darwinism. 
Salvation  for  both  the  strong  and  the  weak  :  that  is  the  Gospel. 
Which,  think  you,  is  the  better  ?  Mr.  Morris's  sensitive  and 
sympathetic  nature  turns  away  with  impatience,  almost  witli 
loathing,  from  the  arrogant  pretensions  of  the  high  priests  of 
science : — 

**  Who,  blind  with  fact,  and  wtupefied  by  law, 
LoKt  Might  (»f  the  Creator,  and  l)ecanic 
Dull  bigots,  nan-owed  to  a  hoi)eleHS  creed, 
And  priests  in  all  but  name." 

The  dogmatism  of  theology  is  often  denounced ;  but  what  about 
the  haughtier  dogmatism  of  science  ?  The  cant  of  the  Churches 
is  often  censured;  but  what  about  the  subtler  cant  of  the 
schools  ?  The  most  inveterate  dogmatists  of  the  present  day 
are  not  to  be  found  among  the  divines,  nor  is  the  most  detest- 
able cant  to  be  found  among  church-goers.  In  the  haughty 
cavalierly  manner  in  which  theology  is  brushed  aside  by  modem 
science  we  have  another  lamentable  instance  of  the  pride  of 
Plato  being  trodden  upon  by  the  greater  pride  of  Diogenes. 

(To  be  continued)* 


THE  SHIPPING  OF  WALES. 


Extensions  at  Cardiff,  the  Barry  scheme — the  docking  of  the 
Xeath  river,  the  pet,  and,  I  am  told,  not  yet  relinquished  project 
of  Jlr.  Talbot,  to  clock  from  Neath  to  Swansea — all  set  one 
thinking  of  the  insignificant  beginnings  of  Welsh  shipping; 
of  its  present  enormous  proportions,  and  probable  gigantic 
future. 

Whether  the  Welsh  people  grew  here,  like  Topsy,  or  came  in 
with  J^rutus  after  the  fall  of  Troy,  or  settled  down  after  a 
continental  wandering,  as  Pritchard  suggests  and  other  autho- 
rities support,  are  matters  not  akin  to  the  subject.  Whether 
the  Irish — the  Gwydhelian — peopled  Britain  first,  and  swarmed 
away  before  the  Kymry,  leaving  traces  on  the  etymology  of  the 
hills,  is  equally  foreign  to  our  subject.  We  were  here,  and, 
being  islanders,  some  little  maritime  enterjmse  was  certain. 
We  had  our  ships  and  our  coracles.  The  latter  were  only  fitted 
for  the  shores,  the  rivers,  and  lakes ;  and  lakes  must  have  been 
numerous  consequent  upon  the  gradual  subsidence  of  the  waters, 
(^f  this  fact  our  Ystrads  are  memorials.  Our  ships  were  very 
similar  if  not  identical  with  those  possessed  by  our  neighbours 
the  Veneti.  These  are  described  in  Caesar's  CoTiimentaries. 
The  keels  were  somewhat  flatter  than  the  Roman  ships,  whereby 
they  could  more  easily  encounter  the  shallows  and  the  ebbing 
of  the  tide.  The  prows  were  raised  very  high,  and  in  like 
manner  the  stems  were  adapted  to  the  force  of  the  waves  and 
the  storms.  The  ships  were  built  wholly  of  oak,  and  designed 
to  endure  all  force  and  violence  of  the  elements.  The  bencheSf 
which  were  made  of  planks  a  foot  in  breadth,  were  fastened 
by  iron  spikes  of  the  thickness  of  a  man's  thumb.  The  anchors 
were  secured  fast  by  iron  chains,  instead  of  cables.  Skins  and 
thin  dressed  leather  were  used  instead  of  canvas.  Csesar  admits 
that  his  vessels  excelled  in  speed  alone,  and  in  the  plying  of 
the  oars.  As  regards  greater  height  and  strength,  those  of  the 
Veneti — and  of  the  Britons,  who  aided  them  with  their  vessels 
— were  much  superior.  Even  the  beaks,  a  formidable  adjunct 
in  naval  warfare,  could  not  injure  the  British  oak.  If  left 
amongst  the  rocks  by  the  receding  tide,  these  vessels  were  safe 
from  violence  by  the  rocks  and  shelves ;  an  immunity  which 
some  of  the  craft  of  the  present  day  do  not  enjoy.    It  is  a 


THE  SHIPPING  OF  WALES.  243 

singular  coincidence  that  Caesar  entrusted  his  maritime  expedi- 
tion against  our  neighbours  to  one  Ikutus;  but  it  would  be 
treason  against  Geoffrey  of  3Ionmouth  even  to  suggest  that  in 
this  way,  and  by  mixing  old  recollections,  there  grew  up  a 
hazy  notion  as  to  how  the  island  was  colonised  under  a  Bnitus. 
It  is  too  remote  now  to  settle  the  matter,  and  we  must  keep 
our  ti'aditions  and  respect  them,  if  it  is  only  for  their  antiquity. 
Being  islandei^s,  and  having  ships,  we  were  not  the  harmless 
fciort  of  i)eople  which  children  are  taught  from  modem  histories 
to  believe.  We  were  more  in  degree  like  the  Scandinavians ; 
and  if  Danes  and  kindred  Northerners  left  their  impress  on  the 
etymology  of  Skom  and  Sker,  and  many  other  names  on  our 
coasts,  we  as  certainly  left  our  imprints  on  the  coasts  of  others. 
According  to  the  Triads^  we  had  three  Koving  Fleets :  the 
fleet  of  Lawr,  son  of  Eiriw ;  the  fleet  of  Diving,  son  of  Alban  ; 
and  the  fleet  of  Dolon,  son  of  Murchath.  Then  there  were 
three  princes  possessed  of  fleets  in  the  isle  of  Britain  :  Geraint, 
son  of  Erbin ;  Gwenwynwyn,  son  of  Nav ;  and  March,  son  of 
Meirchion.  We  gain  a  slight  glimpse  of  one  of  the  rovers  in 
a  poem  attributed  to  Taliesin,  who  flourished  in  the  Sixth 
Century.  This  is  an  elegy,  or  death  cry,  upon  Coroi,  son  of 
Dairi,  a  captain  of  rovers,  who  was  slain  in  a  sea  fight  with 
Cuhelyn.  If,  as  one  authority  suggests,  this  Cuhelyn  is  the 
same  as  he  who  figm*ed  in  Irish  songs  at  the  expedition  of 
Fingal,  the  date  m.iy  be  even  earlier  than  the  sixth  century. 
Three  principal  ports  only  are  referred  to  in  the  Trmds :  the 
port  of  Ysgewyn,  in  Gwent ;  the  port  of  Gwygyr,  in  Jlon ;  and 
the  port  of  Gwyddno,  in  the  North.  These  ports  are  thought 
to  be  the  present  Ysgegwydd,  in  Monmouthshire,  the  mouth  of 
the  Usk;  Beaumaris,  in  the  North,  and  possibly  the  mouth  of 
the  Kibble,  in  I^ancashire.  The  sailing  of  Madoc,  which  has 
been  the  theme  of  poet  and  essayist  for  many  a  year,  is  cited  as 
one  of  the  earliest  expeditions  in  ships.  The  time  at  which 
Madoc  sailed  is  given  as  1170;  but  in  Harris's  Naval  History 
we  find  that  the  Welsh  had  a  considerable  shipping  long  before. 
The  statement  is  as  follows : — "  Earl  Harold  burnt  the  town  and 
shipping  of  King  Griffith  at  Rudeland  (Griffith  ap  Llewelyn), 
1063.  The  Welsh  prince  was  soon  after  slain  by  his  own  men, 
and  his  naval  reputation  is  shown  by  the  prow  of  his  ship  and 
the  bone  therewith  (rigging)  being  brought,  with  his  own  head, 
AS  trophies  to  the  king,  Edward  the  Confessor."  I-iater  on,  in 
1210,  Nicolas  Harris  tells  us  "  that  Llewelyn  ap  Griffith  had  a 
powerful  fleet,  ships,  galleys,  and  boats,  sufficiently  numerous 
to  warrant  an  English  exi)edition  against  them;"  and  in  1298 
the  maritime  strength  of  Wales  is  classed  as  equal  to  Plymouth, 
Exmouth,  Weymouth,  and  Hull.  Wales  and  Hereford  had  to 
contribute  one  vessel  to  the  Koyal  Navy  the  same  as  English 
parts,  and  Bristol  had  to  send  two. 

Q  2 


244  THE  SHffPIXG  OF  WALES. 

The  old  Welsh  bards  have  many  references  to  shipping.  lolo 
Goch  (1370),  the  domestic  bard  of  Owen  Glyndwr,  has  a  poem 
in  which  he  gives  a  very  minute  description  of  a  vessel.  Kobin 
Ddu  (1450)  describes  in  a  poem  his  return  from  a  pilgrimage  to 
Rome.  He  sailed  in  a  vessel  laden  with  wine  and  bound  for 
Anglesey.  Khys  Manmor,  a  bard  who  flourished  at  the  same  time, 
describes  a  ship  going  jFrom  ]\Iilford  having  pilgrims  aboard. 
This  shi])  was  bound  to  Calais  for  wine,  and  had  tliree  decks. 
Thomas  Price,  captain  as  well  as  poet,  actually  fitted  out  a  ship 
of  war,  at  his  own  cost,  to  cruise  against  the  Spaniards  in  the 
time  of  (^ueen  Elizabeth.  He  met  with  the  enemy,  but  had 
such  a  warm  reception  that  he  bore  away.  This  naval  poet — 
too  refined  for  rough  sea  life,  I  expect — has  left  a  quarto  ]MS. 
of  his  works,  once  preserved  in  the  Welsh  School,  London, 
now  in  the  British  Museum. 

In  1701  we  get  a  very  clear  notion  of  what  the  shipping  of 
Wales  was.  Cardiff  was  regarded  then  as  a  \M)Tt  with  three 
creeks,  called  respectively  Newport,  Penmark,  and  Aberthaw. 
The  total  number  of  ships  touching  there  or  trading  there  in 
the  vear  1701  was  11,  with  a  total  biu-den  of  218  tons. 
Chepstow  was  a  port,  and  in  the  same  year  28  vessels  traded 
there,  with  744  tons.  Swansea  was  a  port  with  three  creeks, 
Newton,  South  liurry,  and  Neatli,  or  Briton  Ferry.  The  total 
vess«»ls  were  37,  and  the  total  tonnage  1,468.  The  next  port 
was  Llanelly,  which  had  a  creek  called  Carmarthen,  but  during 
that  year  no  vessel  went  there.  Milford  port  had  32  vessels 
with  995  tonnage.  Pembroke  had  two  creeks,  Haverfordwest 
and  Tenby.  The  total  vessels  calling  there  that  year  was  4, 
tonnage  97.  Cardigan  had  a  creek  called  Fishguard,  but  it  had 
no  vessels.  Aberystwith  had  a  creek  called  Aberdyvi,  and  in 
the  same  year  it  had  one  vessel  calling  there  with  a  carrying 
capacity  of  14  tons,  lieaumaris  port  had  two  creeks,  Bannouth 
and  Amlwch  ;  total  vessels  one,  tonnage  14.  Conway, 
Carnarvon,  Pwllheli,  and  Holyhead  appear  to  have  been  ports 
but  no  vessels  touched  there.  In  1792,  however,  they  figured 
respectively  for  17,  Gl,  81,  and  21  vessels,  with  a  total 
tonnage  of  485,  2,240,  2,461,  and  801. 

A  hundred  years,  or  nearly,  told  somewhat  upon  the  creeks. 
Some  went  up  and  others  down.  Haverfordwest  and  Tenby 
were  nowhere,  and  of  all  the  South  Walian  ports  that  of 
Fishguard  took  pre-eminence.  To  show  this  I  must  resort  to 
figures.  In  1792  Fishguard  had  239  vessels,  and  the  tonnage 
received  was  6,468.  In  the  same  vear  the  three  creeks  of  Cardiff 
had  only  22  vessels,  and  the  tonnage  was  only  789.  Swansea 
with  its  three  creeks  had  96  vessels,  tonnage  5,521 ;  Carmarthen 
57,  tonnage  2,293 ;  Milford,  103  ships,  tonnage  4,200. 

The  world  was  now  waking  up ;  the  sword  had  been  turned 
into  B  ploughshare,  Norman  lieVmeta  eotiverted  into  receptacles 


THE  SHIPPING  OF  WALES.  245 

for  seed  i^otatoes,  and  Cromwellian  cannon  balls  used  for  mantel- 
piece  ornaments.     The  Cardy,  Shirgaer   and  Pembro   rustics, 
familiar  with  soil  ankle  deep,  farm  yard  odours,  buttermilk  and 
lx)tatoes,  were   finding  their  way  down   into  the  iron  and  coal 
<listricts,  there  to  enter  ui)on  the  first  scene  of  transformation 
that  made  them  decent  colliers  and  jmddlers  ;  that  gave  them 
more  wages  in  a  month  than  they  used  to  get  in  a  year  at  home, 
and  shortened  their  lives  fully  half  in  the  process.  But  then  the 
world  was  waking  up  I  By  1815  I  find  that  Swansea — in  which 
district,  by  the  way,  coal  was  the  earlier  delved — was  a  long 
way   ahead   of    Cardiff.       Its   vessels   during   1815   were   135 
and  its  tonnage  8,581 ;  whereas  Cardiff  had  but  52  vessels,  and 
the  tonnjige  was  only  2,684.     Even  Chepstow  could  beat  CardiflF, 
for  it  had  56  vessels  and  4,905  tonnage.     Llanelly,  again,  beat 
Chepstow,  with    94  vessels  and   4,937  tonnage.  Cardigan  was  a 
long  way  ahead  of  the  lot  with  314  vessels  and  12,954  tonnage ; 
and  so  was  Aberystwith,  with  157  vessels  and  8,976  tonnage.  But 
there  ended  the  unsatisfactory  comparison.    Cardiff  gradually 
<lrew  .ahea<:l,  and  July,  1830,  saw  it  begin  a  growth  unequalled 
by  that  of  any  of  our  ports.     A  hundri^  steamers  now  sail  away 
weekly,  and  its  exports  of  coal  are  fast  ftearing  eight  million  tons 
per  annum.   The*  creek  of  Aberthaw  is  still  a  creek,  and  the  name 
is  preserved  by  the  excellence  of  its  lime  for  mortar.      Newport, 
creek  is  now  an  independent  port  with  an  average  foreign  coal 
export   of    25,000   tons    [)er   week,  while    Swansea,  shorn    of 
its  old  creeks,  is  fast  winning  the  same  average. 

Editor. 


WELSH  POETRY  IX  ENGLISH  DRESS, 


THE  BAKI)  AND  HIS  SHADOW. 


By  Dafydo  ap  Gwilim. 

H^h  Centni^y. 

Traufflated  by  Johnes, 

As  I  lingered  yesterday 
rnderiu»ath  the  forest  spray, 
Waiting  for  the  second  Helen, 
Maid  in  loveliness  excelling, 
\\y  the  birch's  verdant  cowl. 
Sheltered  from  the  pissing  nun, 
Ix>  I  a  phantom  grim  and  foul 
(Bowing  oVr  and  o'er  again. 
Like  a  vastly-courteous  man), 
Kight  across  my  path  it  ran. 
I,  with  ague-tremor  faint, 
With  the  name  of  everv  saint 
C-rossed  myself,  and  thus  began 
To  accost  the  phantom  man  : 

Bard. 

"If  thou  art  of  mortal  mould 
Tell  me  who  thou  art  ?" 

Shadow. 

"  Behold 
In  this  spectre  form  thy  shade  ; 
Why,  then,  gentle  Bard,  afraid  ?  " 

Bard. 
"  By  the  Virgin,  tell  me  true 
On  what  errand  ?  " 

Shadow. 

"  To  pursue 
Thee  all  nakedly ;  to  glide. 
Lonely  poet,  by  thy  side, 
Is  my  task,  my  heart's  desire. 


WELSH  POETRY  IN  ENGLISH  DRESS.  247 

I  have  feet  that  never  tire, 
And  am  bound  by  secret  spell 
All  thy  wanderings  to  tell ; 
To  espy  each  wile  and  art, 
Fairest  jewel  of  my  heart." 

Bard. 

**  Vagrant !  without  home  or  shelter, 
With  thy  limbs  all  helter-skelter. 
Crooked,  lank-shank'd,  luckless  shade, 
Shape  of  rainbow,  hue  of  mire, 
Art  thou  then  a  bailiff  paid 
By  the  wolf-tongued  Ethig's  hire, 
Into  all  my  paths  to  pry  ? 
Skulking,  mercenary  spy !" 

Shadow. 

"  Thaty  Sir  Minstrel,  I  deny." 

Bard. 

"  Whence,  then,  art  thou,  giant's  child, 
Shape  of  darkness,  huge  and  wild  ; 
Bald  of  brow,  as  aged  of  hair. 
Bloated,  uncouth  form  of  air ; 
jMore  like  images  that  scud 
Thro'  our  dreams,  than  flesh  and  blood. 
Shaped  like  stork  on  frozen  pool, 
Thin  as  palmer  (wandering  fool !) ; 
Ix)ng-shanked  as  a  crane  tliat  feeds 
Greedily  amongst  the  reeds. 
Like  a  black  and  shaven  monk 
Is  thy  dark  and  spectral  trunk. 
Or  a  corpse  in  winding-sheet  — '' 

Shadow. 

"  I  have  followed  sure  and  fleet 
On  thy  steps.  Were  I  to  tell 
But  one  half,  thou  knowest  well — '' 

Bard. 

**  Thou  may'st  tell  and  thou  may'st  scan. 
Wicked,  vain,  censorious  man. 
Nought  of  me  thou  canst  disclose 
More  than  every  neighbour  knows. 
I  have  never  falsely  sworn 
In  the  Cwmdad  court,  or  torn 
Lambs  to  death ;  have  never  ttiTOVfn 


jt 


248  WTILSH  POETRY  IX  ENGLISH  DBESS. 

At  the  hens  with  pebble  stone ; 
Never  have  the  spectre  played 
little  babes  to  make  afraid ; 
Never  yet  have  territietl 
Stranger  maid  or  stranger's  bride.** 

SiiAlxW. 

*'  Gentle  Bard,  were  I  to  tell 
Half  thy  tricks,  thou  knowest  well, 
Soon  thv  daintv  limbs  misht  be 
Swinging  from  the  gallows-tree." 

TIu'  toriijoiiijyj  may  Ik-  tukonOkf  ilf.-<'rii»tive  **f  an  iiiteniew  betH'een  the  Bard  and 
his  oiii'«cii'iKv.  :iiul  a'^  :i  iiieti«physicul  oiiiiiMwtiiiii  i<  worthy  of  more  than  a  ]iartni^ 
^rliinct'.  l>afv\M  wa.<  the  IVtnirvh  i't  Cauibiiaii  uiin'*tni*lsv,  and  fauied  for  hi» 
Iiivi"  rpi'MMU':*.  lUnin  It^'ke  fc*\t'r  hcai-t^  than  l>afyi1ii.  Ilus  fact  the  ** Shadow" 
knvw.  No  one  in  hi<  old  a^rr  uu*xv  hittrrly  i^fK-nttrii  hi'*  miffdeedit  than  our  hard. 
iKifylit  l>vtil  woMiaukind  and  hated  nii>nk^  :  N<.>t*r  hi<  ci.>iuni«:ut  on  the  Palmer, — 
"  wandorinv:  f«»«»l." 

The  Editoil 


THE  MASSACRE  OF  THE   INNOCENTS. 


By  an  Ex-School  Board  ^Iemhkk. 

I  am  incited  to  make  a  few  remarks  on  the  indiscriminate 
system  of  forcing  now  going  on  in  our  elementary  schools,  not 
only  on  account  of  two  or  three  paragraphs  which  have  appeared 
of  late  in  the  news])ai>ers,  but  also  from  instances  of  personal 
observation.  The  question,  "  Is  there,  since  the  i)assing  of  the 
Education  Act,  an  indiscriminate  forcing  in  elementary  schools 
which  tends  to  imdennine  the  constitution  of  a  large  percentage 
of  the  children  ?"  is  one  which,  if  answered  in  the  atHrmative, 
retjuin^s  the  serious  consideration  of  every  School  Board  in  the 
United  Kingdom,  of  the  Education  Department,  and  also  gf  the 
(lovenunent  of  this  realm.  Thia  que|tion  has  been  before  the 
^^cotch  Education  Congress,  which  not  long  ago  sat  at  Aberdeen. 
It  has  also  been  In-fore  the  London  School  Board,  but,  so  far  as 
I  can  gather,  no  practical  results  have  yet  followed  from  this 
ventilating  of  the  qu(!stion.  I  do  not  find  fault  with  the  Education 
<  Vie.  In  all  likelihood  it  does  not  enforce  more  than  what  can  be 
fairly  mastered  by  the  average  clever  boy  and  girl,  with  a  certain 
amount  of  assiduity  and  study.  But  it  is  a  (luestion  worthy  of 
serious  thought  wliether  mischief  is  wrought  upon  the  mental 
and  physical  iK>wers  of  children,  many  of  whom  are  not  able  to 
bear  any  amount  of  severe  stniin.  From  personal  observation  I 
am  convinced  that  such  is  the  case.  A  child  well  nourished  and 
properly  clad  may  be  able  to  bear  a  severer  strain  on  the  mental 
and  physical  powei*8  than  one  poorly  nourished  and  ill  clad. 

Here  appears  to  me  the  very  gist  of  the  problem  which  this 
paper  is  intended  to  solve.  In  order  that  an  elementary  school 
may  earn  a  high  grant,  and  receive  a  good  report  from  Her 
^Majesty's  Inspector,  a  course  of  indiscriminate  forcing  is  resorted 
to  by  the  masters  and  mistresses.  Little  or  no  inquiry  is  made 
into  the  circumstances  or  condition  of  health  of  the  children  in 
the  school ;  the  one  grand  object  seems  to  be  foixing.  Every 
child  must  at  any  risk  be  well  up  in  his  or  her  respective 
sUmdard,  ready  for  the  examination,  even  though  a  Nemesis 
should  instantly  follow.  Such  indiscriminate  pressure  must 
have  its  baneful  results,  especially  among  the  poorer  classes  of 
the  working  people.    I  have  for  several  years  sat  as  a  member 


250  ]\IASSACRE  OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

of  a  School  Board,  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  giving  it  as  my 
honest  conviction  that  sad  results  do  occur  from  this  over- 
taxing of  the  mental  powers  of  many  young  children  of  the 
working  classes,  who  are  both  ill  clad  and  badly  nourished.  I 
have  seen  this  in  several  instances,  which  were  most  harrowing 
to  the  feelings.  One  instance  has  very  lately  come  under  my 
notice  in  the  town  in  which  I  reside.  A  little  boy,  nine  years  of 
age,  in  the  Fourth  Standard,  was  attending  a  Board  School  in  the 
town.  He  was  not  naturally  of  a  strong  constitution,  and  if  he 
had  belonged  to  the  middle  class  of  society  he  would  probably 
have  not  been  sent  to  any  school  until  his  health  had  improved. 
But  apparently  he  was  not  so  ill  as  to  be  entitled  to  a  medical 
certificate,  relieving  him  of  school  duties  ;  so  to  school  he  had 
to  go,  from  the  dread  of  the  alternative  that  his  father  would  be 
fined  by  the  magistrate  for  not  sending  him.  The  conse<|uence 
was  that,  on  account  of  the  over  straining  of  his  mental  powers, 
he  broke  down  ;  brain  fever  set  in,  and  in  a  fortnight  the  ixx)r 
little  fellow  was  laid  in  his  gnive. 

From  my  personal  knowledge  of  this  sad  case  I  am  honestly 
led  to  the  conclusion  that  this  little  boy's  death  proceeded  from 
over-forcing  in  his  school  studies.  His  father,  though  a  perse- 
vering man,  was  straitened  in  circumstances,  and  could  not 
provide  his  boy  with  the  nourishment  necessary  for  close  attention 
to  his  school  duties,  the  result  being  an  over-taxed  brain,  collapse, 
and  finally  death.  In  the  height  of  delirium  it  was  most  pitiful 
to  hear  his  mutterings,  all  containing  allusions  to  his  school 
work,  especially  the  arithmetical  questions ;  and  the  dread  of 
the  master  if  his  "  sums''  were  not  "  right  f  "  nine  in  eighty- 
seven — twelve  times  ten — nine — twelve,''  &e.  Thus  the  poor 
child  passed  away,  with  probably  an  imaginary  difficult  arith- 
metical puzzle  unfinished,  the  figures  dancing  a  minuet  before 
his  eyes,  and  the  master's  cane  waving  aloft,  threatening  punish- 
ment for  inability  to  accomplish  the  task.  He  was  called,  poor 
innocent,  to  another  school,  to  be  educated  in  a  higher  standard, 
and  to  be  taught  by  a  blaster  who  encourages  and  rewards  with 
discriminating  kindness  those  who  possess  one  talent  equally 
with  those  who  have  ten  talents.  The  above  case  is  the  most 
recent  that  has  come  under  my  notice,  but  my  suspicions  have 
been  raised  on  many  occasions — suspicions  amounting  almost  to 
a  clear  demonstration  of  the  fact  that  many,  re/*?/  rruiny^  school 
children  suflfer  more  or  less  from  the  heavy  pressure  put  on 
them  by  the  teachers,  in  order  to  force  them  uj)  to  the  standard 
required  by  the  Education  Code. 

In  our  large  public  elementary  schools  children  of  various 
degrees  of  natural  talent  are  to  be  found.  Some  are  clever  and 
easily  master  their  lessons  ;  others  are  but  moderately  endowed 
with  intellectual  abilities,  and  many  of  them  are  capable  of 
learning  but  very  little.     Is  it  fair  or  kind  that  these  three 


MASSACRE  OF  THE  INNOCENTS.  2ol 

classes  should  be  treated  all  alike — that  they  should  be  ec^ually 
forced  to  learn  all  the  subjects  in  the  different  standards,  irre- 
spective of  any  considerations  of  individual  ability  ?  Common 
sense  and  common  humanity  will  at  once  say,  "  No,  it  would 
be  cruel  to  do  so."  And  yet  I  fear  this  is  done  to  a  very  great 
extent  in  most  ot  our  elementary  schools.  It  is  time,  1  think, 
that  such  a  practice  should  be  looked  into ;  and  it  would  give 
ine  the  greatest  satisfaction  to  know  that  these  hurriedly  written 
remarks,  together  with  the  paragraphs  that  have  already  appeared 
in  the  newspapers,  would  be  the  means  of  drawing  the  attention 
of  the  proper  authorities  to  this  important  subject,  in  order  that 
they  may  have  some  commiseration  for  the  unfortunate  condition 
in  life  of  some  of  the  poor  little  scholars,  who  should  not  be 
forced  beyond  their  mental  and  i>hysical  strength,  and  thus 
either  hurried  into  an  untimely  grave,  or  allowed  to  grow  up 
weak,  stunted,  and  puny  men  and  women.  The  paper  read  on 
the  subject  by  Dr.  Farquharson,  jNI.P.,  at  the  Aberdeen  Congress 
surely  deserves  the  attention  of  the  Education  Department  and 
all  School  Boards.  The  Doctor  lays  down  the  })rinciple  that 
*' the  training  of  the  young  should  always  be  carried  on  with  some 
attention  to  their  individual  qualities  and  powers."  I  conclude 
this  paper  by  expressing  a  hope  that  the  medical  gentlemen  of 
every  town  and  district  will  take  the  matter  up,  and  give  us 
their  candid  opinion  whether  or  not  there  has,  since  the 
establishing  of  School  Boards  throughout  the  kingdom,  been  an 
increase  among  children  of  head-mischief,  resulting  in  cases  of 
brain  fever  or  broken-down  health. 

Alpha. 


HUNTING  IN  WALES. 


*•  Huntiii^  i-i  :'..e  >:  •rt  :t  kin^^^,  tLe  iiiiage  of  war  without  its 
guil:,  ;iL:i  ^x'r\.  oulv  nvr-ini-cwenty  ^*er  cent,  of  its  danger.* 
This  is  "The  ILriai  or  Jorr  v<<,  :Le  iaimirable  ^lersonation  of  the 
\T;Ig;ir,  but  irrej  re-N^ibl-e,  Oxkn-y  s-^ort^man.  the  re^.'ord  of  whose 
«li 'iuij-i  in  H:iu  r.rv  «'p>-i  ;iri:^  household  w.^rvls  with  every  hunting 
iriaii.  In  i;o  [nr.  ..  f  the  I'liiteLl  Kin^oiii  »ioe<  huntiu^  flourish 
in-Tt-  rliiin  in  W;iie-,  Jcsiitc-  viirrlv'tiltifs  of  *.-tnmtr\\  population, 
au«l  nou-iirist-vnitii.-  as^.vi.:tion<.  The  inspiration  of  the  author 
I -fa  pr-pular  huntiniT  ^on^:  !uu3it  have  ivru  taken  from  a  Welsh- 
man when  he  |»enued  the  tV'lh»wiug  :  — 

V^  •  r-  ^    •     X   '  ■»■»  ■^•»'*  t  '^  -    1*1    '■  -  "    ■■■    •;■  -    ?■• .      T  1*'    *  ' 

l>e  hf  fanner,  hilH^iirf  r,  ^n-  miner,  that  eh^erv  sound  has  instant 
channs  for  the  true-bom  Wtl-hman.  Ht*  scarce  knows  why; 
lie  never  >tops  to  in^juirc  :  his  instincts  are  strong  for  the  chase, 
and,  eitht-r  on  horse  or  on  fo^^t,  he  dovi^tes  himself  to  it  when- 
ever it  comes  within  his  reach,  coi*  amoir.  So  much  so  that 
there  is  hardly  a  ^K^rtion  of  \Vale<,  certainly  not  of  .South  Wales, 
however  mountainous  or  inacie<sihle,  that  does  not  boast  of 
having  its  pack  of  hounds,  and  generally  oi^  foxhounds,  and  that 
keeps  up  a  reguhir  war  ag*iinst  the  foxes. 

►South  Wales  can  boast  of  a  breed  of  hound  pure  and  luiique ; 
an  animal  that  has  stooil  the  test  of  centuries  in  its  own  districts, 
and  is  unsurpassed  for  tongue,  nose,  jxice,  perseverance,  and  saga- 
city— a  long  list  of  goo<l  (pialities,  some  of  which  may  be  doubted 
by  English  sp)rting  readers.  Let  me,  therefore,  emphatically 
reaffirm  every  one  of  them  from  a  pnutical  experience  of  many 
years.  The  real  true-bred  Welsh  hound  is  handsome  only  in  his 
ugliness.  With  a  narrow  body,  and  a  long,  narrow  head  and  taj^r- 
ingnose,  the^ilkiest  of  long,  drooping  ears,  that  never  knew  the 
rounding  ]>i-ocess  of  mcxlern  foxhound  kennels ;  well-placed 
shoulders  and  a  light,  airy  mould  ;  slightly  tall  on  the  legs,  and 
sometimes  not  very  g(xxi  in  his  feet ;  with  a  stern  that  often 
curls  more  than  a  fastidious  Melton  man  would  like  ;  a  bright, 
but  sunken  eye,  and  a  thin,  wiry  coat,  neither  very  rough  nor 
very  smooth,  and  in  colour  often  white,  or  lemon -and- white  ; 
sometimes  badger-pied  and  white  ;  occasionally  red-tanned  and 
quite  smooth,  but  hardly  ever  of  the  bright  mixed  colours  of  an 


HINTINO  IN  WALES.  253 

English  fi)xbound,  and  perfectly  distinct  from  tlie  heavier^ 
shaggier  otter-hound.  ( )f  this  true-bred  Welsh  hound  very  few 
remain  in  their  purity.  The  oldest  packs  are  those  of  Mr. 
Blandy  Jenkins,  the  Llanharran,  that  boasts  an  uninterrupted 
owTiership  as  a  trencher-fed  pack  of  200  years,  and  that  of  Mr* 
Dillwyn  Llewelyn,  of  Penllergare,  which  is  equally  celebrated  in 
its  own  district,  and  has  been  very  carefully  bred  and  cared  for.. 
It  is  a  treat,  indeed,  to  see  the  former  pack  draw  and  find  a  fox 
on  the  almost  precipitous  rocks  at  the  head  of  the  Rhondda 
Valley,  where,  driving  him  from  his  stronghold,  he  is  lucky 
indeed  if  he  gains  shelter  and  saves  his  life  in  some  old  coal 
level,  which  for  the  nonce  remains  unguarded  ])y  some  trusted 
old  miner  told  off  for  this  favourite  duty.  Such  melodious, 
chime-like  music  brings  hinidreds  of  the  night-shift  men  from 
their  short  slumbers  to  join  the  sporting  throng,  and  add  their 
shouts  to  the  general  chorus  of  Welsh  encouragement  which  is 
given  to  the  hounds,  and  which  must  greatly  add  to  their  foe's 
discouragement.  To  see  also  the  Penllergare  dogs  on  the  rough,, 
stony  hills  that  bound  the  Swansea  Vale,  where  to  ride  after 
them  is  next  to  impossible,  and  as  they  near  the  Carmarthen- 
shire Vale — one  vast  moorland  tract  of  i)efit  and  bog,  with  here 
and  there  cairns  of  loose  rocks,  that  afford  a  sure  harbour  of 
refuge  to  these  hardly-tried  mountain  foxes — is  a  sight  to  astonish 
the  P^nglish  lowlander.  There  are  other  packs  hereabouts  rather 
less  pure  in  their  blood,  or  well  cared  for,  such  as  the  Llanwonna 
and  the  Cascade  hounds,  that  hunt  the  Uj^per  Taff  and  the  hills 
between  Pontypridd  and  Pontypool.  To  English  notions  the 
ways  and  means  of  mountain  hunting  are,  to  say  the  least,, 
curious.  Where  in  a  fashionable  country  all  is  order,  and  all  the^ 
cheering  and  holloaing  are  done  by  the  huntsman  alone — where 
sometimes  only  a  whistle  is  allowed  to  proclaim  that  a  fox  has 
broken  covert,  and  where  only  one  slight  blast  of  the  horn  brings 
every  hound  in  his  wake — is  a  striking  contrast  to  the  rampant 
shouts  and  noisy  ejaculations  which  here  ring  from  one  mountain 
&ide  to  another,  not  only  during  the  draw  for  a  fox,  but  with 
redoubled  energy  when  Puggy  is  on  his  legs.  Perhaps  there  is 
method,  however,  in  their  madness ;  for  to  find  a  fox  imder  tlie 
silent  system  in  such  districts  as  we  are  speaking  of  would  be 
next  to  impossible,  and  these  Welsh  hounds  seem  perfectly 
conscious  of  the  meaning  of  all  that  goes  on,  and  not  one  iota 
disconcerted  or  over-excited  by  the  outi)ourof  those  raving  view-^ 
holloas  and  Welsh  jargon ;  and  woe  betide  the  fox  that,  above 
ground  or  below  it,  falls  into  the  clutches  of  such  relentless 
pursuers. 

The  Tivyside  and  Squire  Powell's  (of  Maesgwynne)  countries 
are  the  Leicestershire  of  Wales,  the  former  certainly  for  choice* 
Both  abound  in  grass,  with  nice  jumpable  banks  and  few  large 
covers ;  but  the  latter  is  cut  up  with  too  many  narrow,  awkward 


254  HUNTING  IN  WALES. 

<lingles  and  boggy  hollows  to  be  rideable  everywhere,  StiD, 
]Mr.  Powell  has  a  iiiie,  workmanlike  )iuck  of  hounds,  not  too  high 
bred  for  his  country :  and  Carmarthenshire  has  reason  to  be 
gr<iteful  to  him  for  the  many  years  during  which  he  has  been 
tlie  mainstay  of  sj>ort  thereabouts.  "Johnny  Howell,"  as 
he  is  familiarly  oalh»d,  has  stuck  right  loyally  to  the  Tivyside. 
A  keen  man  in  all  he  imdertakes,  and  a  hsuxl  rider,  he  has  a 
bt»autiful  Knglish-bred  i)ack,  that  can  race  a  fox  to  death  before 
he  gains  the  sea  rocks,  and  can  fly  over  the  low  banks  that  here 
<*ncircle  the  rather  small  enclosures  of  South  Cardiganshire. 
>Ie  is  l^acktnl  up  by  landowners  who  nearly  all  love  hunting,  and 
for  a  small  conniiunity  Tivysiile  has  much  to  be  proud  of. 
Pembrokeshire  boasts  of  two  regular  picks ;  bigger  woodlands 
and  higher  banks,  but  rare  scenting  ground;  and  as  long  as 
there  is  a  \/3vt  Phillips  or  Allen  above  ground  there  will  be  no 
lack  of  support  to  foxhunting  in  the  far  west  of  Wales. 

(ioin^  north  into  Cardiganshire,  the  Vale  of  Ay  ron  hounds  exist 
no  longer  under  t  heir  old  name.  ]\Ir.  Pryse's  harriers  are  a  standing 
<lish  hereabouts,  and  the  old  (io^erddan  hounds  no  longer  hold 
tlie  proud  position  that  th(»y  did  a  few  years  ago  in  the  neigh- 
l)onrhood  of  Aberystwith,  They  have  dropi>ed  out  of  the  list  of 
])ul)lic  iixtures,  altlnaigli  Colonel  Pryse  still  keeps  sufficient 
hounds  to  awaken  the  echoes  from  the  centre  of  Ciuxligan  Bay 
to  Plinlimmon.  How  well  1  remember  one  autumn  day,  thirty 
years  Jigo,  when  1  went  forth  in  all  the  joy  of  boyhood,  on  a 
borrowed  pony,  to  meet  the  (logerddan.  Oh,  those  treacherous 
banks!  I  was  not  Icmg  in  measuring  my  length,  i)ony  and  alU 
^)ver  one  of  them,  only  to  i>t*  jiicked  u]»aml  reassured  by  a  young 
hidy,  not  far  in  h(*r  teens,  who  rode  divinely,  and  inspired  her 
boyish  ft>llower  with  admiration, aye,  and  <levotion,too,  for  many 
a  day  afterwards.  The  widt*  world  has  unkindly  ptirted  us  ever 
since,  and  she,  who  is  now  a  comely  matron,  has  undoubtedly  long 
forgotten  her  ])itched-off  comj)anion — an  P-ton  boy. 

Carmarthenshire  has  still  another  pack,  the  Vale  of  Towy, 
that  hunts  that  beautiful  vale,  and  tht»  rough  coimtries  adjoining 
it,  with  a  varied  succ(*ss  and  sccantily  sup] Mjrted,  except  by  a  few 
landowners,  and  in  the  Vale  of  (iwilli  have  difficulties  to 
cimtend  with  such  as  all  newly  established  packs  must  expect. 
IJreconshire  has  nothing  to  boast  of  in  the  way  of  hounds,  except 
n  trencher-fed  pack  in  the  neighbourhood  of  IJanwrtyd  and 
Cynghordy,  and  a  pack  of  harriers  at  Brecon  itself.  Radnorshire 
on  its  eastern  or  lower  side  that  slopes  away  from  Itadnor  Forest 
has  a  very  good  pack  under  the  mastership  of  one  of  the  best 
sportsmen  in  Wah\s— Col.  K.  H.  Price.  It  was  established 
twenty  years  ago,  in  a  measure  by  the  instrumentality  of  yoxur 
humble  scribe  and  Cai)tain  Beavan,  and  the  Welsh  blood  has 
been  utilised  by  judicious  crossing  with  the  finest  English 
blood,  and  many'^is  the  grand  run  that  these  hounds  have  had 


HUNTING  IN  WALES.  235 

during  the  last  few  seasons.  I  forbear  to  recount  our  own 
praises,  although  perhaps  on  a  future  occasion  I  may  be  able  to 
send  you  some  anecdotes  of  the  chase,  for  the  truth  of  which  I 
can  personally  vouch.  Glamorganshire,  besides  the  really  Welsh 
packs  we  have  mentioned,  has  during  the  last  ten  or  twelve 
years  established  in  its  lower  country  round  Cowbridge  a  very 
level  and  good  pack  of  hounds,  which,  under  the  present 
management  of  ^Nlr.  Gibbon,  and  with  Cross  as  huntsman,  would 
<lo  honom*  to  a  more  fashionable  shire.  It  enjoys  a  nice  strip 
of  country  below  the  hills,  with  Cowbridge  as  its  centre,  and 
must  form  a  great  att^ction  to  the  sportsmen  round  Cardiff. 
l>ord  Tredegar,  between'  Newport  and  Cardiff,  has  carved  out  a 
pretty  little  country,  and  has  made  some  snug  covers  in  the 
flat,  where  his  brother,  the  Monmouthshire  !M.P.,  sj)end8  many 
a  happy  hour,  sometimes,  schooling  his  young  ones,  bipeds  as 
well  as  quadrupeds  ;  and,  if  we  mistake  not,  there  is  more  than 
•one  chip  of  the  old  block  that  can  go  like  a  bird,  and  will  keep 
alive  the  name  of  ^lorgan  in  the  hunting  field  for  many  a  long 
day. 

Touching  on  Monmouthshire — which  county  certainly  ought 
to  be  given  back  to  Wales,  just  to  fill  up  the  baker's  dozen  of 
its  counties,  seeing  that  it  legitimately  belongs  to  it  now  in 
every  way  except  by  name — we  find  two  packs  of  hounds  that, 
to  do  them  justice,  ought  to  have  a  paper  to  themselves. 
Your  space  is  too  valuable,  however,  and  we  must  touch  lightly 
on  the  praises  of  dear  old  Stretton,  who  did  so  much  to 
establish  the  county  pack,  and  in  his  own  singularly  popular 
way  won  the  hearts  of  all.  How  much  ^Monmouthshire  owes  to 
Stretton,  in  its  sporting  and  conviviality,  those  who  have  lived 
long  in  it  begin  to  realise  and  acknowledge.  Not  only  its  pack 
•of  hounds,  there  are  its  hunt  club,  its  archery,  its  county  balls, 
its  hunt  dinners,  its  coaching  meets,  its  agricultural  shows, 
aU  of  them  more  or  less  springing  from  that  happy,  winning 
manner  of  dear  old  Stretton,  and  well  sustained  by  his  successors. 
'The  hounds  have  gone  on  steadily  improving  until  now,  and  under 
the  joint  auspices  of  Captain  Cai)el  Hanbury  Williams  and  Mi\ 
John  Rolls,  M.P.,  they  have  blossomed  into  something  like 
l>erfection,  hunting  three  and  four  days  a  week,  and  killing 
more  foxes  in  one  season  than  Stretton  did  in  two.  They 
have  dip^>ed  quietly  and  cautiously  into  the  Welsh  blood,  and 
are  fain  to  acknowledge  its  goodness.  Over  such  awkward  bits  of 
•country  as  the  Great  Skyryd,  the  White  Hill  or  the  Graig,  it 
is  impossible  for  any  huntsman  to  be  with  his  hounds  always, 
and  here  their  self  dependent  qualities  are  found  indispensable ; 
left  to  themselves  these  hounds  stick  well  to  their  fox  with 
plenty  of  music,  so  that  to  sit  and  listen  to  them  makes  up  to 
Ihe  true  sportsman  for  the  want  of  being  able  to  ride  after 


>  ■  • 


\ 


1  * 


V  ..  .^     - 


X-     - 


—      T- 


J 


WELSH    CHARACTER    SKETCHES 


THE  OLD  WELSH  GENTLE5IAX. 
"  Orte  of  the  olden  time." 


At  a  time  when  the  slim,  dark-baired,  and  sallow-foced 
Norman  was  winning  himself  a  home  here,  and  the  tawny- 
haired  Dane  and  Saxon  and  the  sqiiare-fnced  Fleming  were 
intermarrying,  and  fusing  themselves,  with  other  nationalitieft, 
into  the  "British  Race,"  the  old  Welsh,  or,  more  properly- 
fipeaking,  British  gentleman,  displayed  that  genial,  hospitable 
natore  which  has  ever  Bince  become  associated  in  our  mind  with 
the  representatives  of  the  ancient  race.  We  all  know  the  chief 
traits  of  the  races  that  have  made  u])  the  present  Englishman. 
We  know  Hxe  Saxon  to  be  sluggish,  with  a  good  deal  of  staying 


2.'.>  WELSH  CHAKACTEB  SKETCHES. 

pn\rr:  Wf  kn^'W  also  iLaT  tli^-  Britisit  biid  a  good  deal  of  tlaUj 
ur  Tr  imrr  i-^riiv,  anil  >h' »rtt'r-Tempereil.  and  that  chivalry  and 
count  >y  to  wfinen  iani»-  in  with  the  Xomaan.  Butof  otier 
iii^:iiKti\v  ol;ar:uter:>!iL->  we  are  n«^t  so  well  informed.  Let  me 
^r^■^T  oui-  in  ronn^etion  with  our  sketch — Hospitality.  Thfa 
C'^nus  to  u>,  ijoT  from  tht-  tawny-haired  rover,  not  lix>in'the  flat- 
fa  r^- J.  Kltnii!.i:.  not  fn  ni  the  cru<ade-loving  Xoniian  ;  but  from 
tj.t.-  I'lil  Rriti>h  stivk.  now  rei^rest-nted  by  the  old  Webb 
i:tntlonian.  "  «^ne  of  tin*  oKlen  tinio." 

A  rino  typi"  was  Ivor  H  a  el  •  whose  praises  were  sung  byDavydd 
iv  iiwilvni.  The  >tudent  i»f  Welsh  hi>torv  constantly  comes 
a*,  ross  in>Tauoos  a<  oni>picno"s  i  >wtrn  Ulradwr's  home,  ere  be 
ili'fw  his  swt»nl  for  u.f  fatherland,  was  a  bright  and  beautiful 
I'ioturo  of  all  tlir  virtm-s  of  llo^pitality.  The  poets,  from 
Llywaroh  Hrn  di'Wii.  n-velK-d  in  compliments  to  their  generous 
lord>.  IMsoountiiii;  :i  f:«>xi  deal  of  the  compliment,  which  may 
hv  duo  to  rxtra  i^las-t-s,  or  lioms.  i»f  mead,  two  facts  still  remain, 
nanu'ly.  tliat  tho  Wol>h  lord  was  a  most  hospitable  character, 
and  til'  \\  olsli  ]\ird  a  most  tn^teful  truest.  It  was  to  be  expected 
that  tho  dosiontlants  i»n  the  right  hand  and  the  left  of  the  oM 
Wel>li  lord-  and  ho  gonerally  had  his  -Spiiver  full  '' — would 
iuhirit  tho>o  gonon»u>  traits,  and  the  experiences  of  wandering 
mi'U.  siu-h  a>  niy<olf,  in  tho  f»hl  ]»re-railway  days,  confirm  it. 
Wliat  Ixnvls  i»f  milk,  what  heaps  of  oaten  cake,  have  we  not 
onton  !  How  many  a  time  and  oft  have  we  not  had  even  more 
luxurious  fare,  and  in  mountain  homes  l>een  feast eil,  first  on  the 
g'Kxl  things  of  life,  and  afterwards  on  the  melody  of  voice  and 
harp.  This  hospitality  nm'  still  be  had;  but  the  smaller 
faruuMs,  noar  tlu*  termini  of  railways  or  the  haunts  of  tourists, 
havi*  h^'c'omo  regardful  of  payment  for  ham  and  eggs,  and  look 
u}Kui  the  tnivt^llerV  ea>h  as  nece>>arv  towards  making  up  for 
deficient  harvests. 

Tlu^  old  Welsh  gentleman  whom  I  am  now  going  to  sketch 
xas  of  a  gooil  old  ty})e,  of  which  examjjles  were,  and  are  still,  I 
doubt  not,  niuuerous  in  everv  count  v.  I  first  saw  him  iu 
t  armarthenshire.  gloved  as  carefidly,  dressed  as  particularly,  as 
an  English  gentleman,  without  (he  slightest  trace  of  "  la\v-de- 
dawism  ''  about  him."  He  was  moimted  on  a  good  cob,  round 
and  comfortable,  like  himself,  and  there  was  a  cheery  heartiness 
in  his  manner  as  he  l>ade  me  welcome.  I  found  him  well  versed 
in  all  farming  details ;  he  knew  the  points  of  heifers,  horses,  and 
sheej);  and,  if  he  had  not  studied  agricultural  chemistry,  he 
knew  by  heritage  and  instinct  just  what  suited  his  soil.  He  liked 
a  racy  old  song,  but  the  music  he  loved  best  of  all  was  that  of  the 
hounds.  1  have  seen  him  watching  intently  the  pack  running 
here  and  there,  with  solitary  yelps,  up  the  distant  moimtain 
side,  and  have  caught  his  own  enthusiasm  as  they  picked  up  the 
scent,  and  gave  out  the  grand  crash  of  their  melody.     **  Ha  I 


THE  OLD  WELSH  GENTLEMAN.  259 

^    my  boy,"  said  he,  "  what  church  bells  ever  rang  out  music  like 

■  thatr 

'  Many  a  tale  had  he  to  tell  of  the  old  days,  when  the  farmers 
from  every  homestead  gathered  and  joined  in  the  chase,  and  the 

■  ■  whole  hunt  were  more  like  boys  let  loose  from  school  in  the 

•  fulness  of  their  delight  than  sedate  men  and  fathers  of  families. 
^    Many  a  friendly  call  they  made  in  the  course  of  the  day,  getting 

•  jugs  of  home-brewed  at  one  place,  glasses  of  gin  at  others.  And 
when  the  sport  was  over,  and  the  day  was  done,  how  radiant  the 
fiice  shone  at  the  home  table,  the  family  listening  with  keenest 
interest  to  this  story  and  to  that :  how  Jones  was  thrown,  how 
Williams  was  barked ;  how  Morgan's  horse  was  lamed,  and  he 
had  to  trudge  a  score  of  miles  home ;  and  who  took  the  brush 
and  won  the  honours  of  the  day. 

My  old  Welsh  gentleman  was  a  good  shot.  Angling  was  too 
reflective  a  pursuit  for  his  impulsive  nature  ;  and  his  store  of 
anecdotes  of  what  his  gun,  and  his  neighbours'  guns,  had  done, 
would  have  eclij>sed  those  of  "  Percy."  He  was  enthusiastic  ; 
but  never  coloured  his  stories.  He  had  not  a  fragment  of  conceit 
about  him ;  told  as  freely  of  his  own  mishaps  as  of  others,  and 
laughed  as  merrily  as  his  listeners.  On  one  point  only  was  he 
a  little  reserved,  and  that  was  about  the  doings  of  "Kebecca." 
In  the  roomy  old  kitchen,  sitting  by  the  pleasant  winter  fire,  I 
have  seen  his  glance  wander  up  to  a  dusty  horn,  placed  high 
above  reach,  and  fall  again  thoughtfully  upon  the  fire  as  we 
talked  of  the  old  Kebecca  days.  1  have  thought  that  if  the  old 
horn  could  si)eak  it  would  tell  a  tale  of  the  muster,  in  the  dark 
valley,  of  stalwart  horsemen ;  of  the  rough  ride  ;  the  sudden 
midnight  assault  on  a  turnpike  gate ;  of  the  fires  which  flashed, 
beacon-like,  around ;  and  then,  in  the  morning,  of  the  stable 
boy's  suspicious  look  at  the  mire-spotted  cob,  left  so  well  groomed 
the  night  before  ;  and  of  the  tales  circulated  at  the  next  market 
over  pipeg  and  hot  gin.  Never  a  word  said  he  of  his  part  in  the 
matter.  All  that  1  have  gathered  was  simply  the  "echo  of  the 
horn." 

Other  old  Welsh  gentlemen  I  have  known  ;  have  seen  them 
on  the  Bench,  administering  the  justice  of  Bums  with  a  leaven 
of  their  own  honest  notions  of  equity,  and  the  only  cases  1  ever 
knew  that  seemed  to  be  somewhat  rigidly — not  imjustly,  mind 
— dealt  with  were  those  of  poaching  and  trespass.  Let  "  Bill 
Meddwmawr"  come  before  them  in  the  matter  of  an  early 
pheasant,  or  a  hare,  or  a  salmon,  and  Bill's  preconceived  impres- 
sions that  he  was  to  be  provided  free  with  food  and  lodging  for 
a  few  months  were  generally  confirmed.  If  the  old  Welsh 
gentleman  erred  on  the  side  of  mercy,  as  he  often  did,  it  was 
not  towards  the  likes  of  Bill. 

I  have  known  the  old  Welsh  gentleman  at  public  meetings, 
at  festive  parties,  at  dinners ;  and  who  more  genial  ?    Always 

r2 


260      WELSH  CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 

the  first  to  head  a  subscription,  the  most  hearty  in  public  move- 
ments, the  raciest  of  the  racy  speakers,  introducing  a  little  of 
the  mother-tongue  here  and  there  with  effect,  and  reddening  up, 
like  the  good  old  boy  he  was,  at  the  torrent  of  applause  which  over- 
whelmed him.  And  I  have  seen  him  carried  to  his  long  home, 
the  whole  of  the  village  following  him,  and  not  a  bought  tear  or 
a  purchased  sadness  in  the  whole  crowd.  Even  Bill  was  there ; 
and  in  the  "  Red  Cow  "  at  night  Bill  had  no  word  but  of  sorrow 
for  the  "good  sort "  gone  to  his  rest.  Pleasant  it  is  to  think 
that  we  have  still  many  representatives  left ;  that  Manchester 
merchants  and  Liverpool  brokers  have  not  bought  up  all  the  old 
acres.  The  new  squirearchy  may  s^wrt  more  pretentious 
equipages,  and  have  a  larger  balance  in  the  county  bank,  than 
the  old  ;  but,  live  as  long  as  they  may,  they  will  never  to  the 
same  degree  win  over  the  love  of  the  people.  This  no  gold 
ever  bought,  no  gold  will  ever  buy. 

Ap  Adda. 


GEOLOGICAL  NOTES  AND  REML\1SCENCES  OF 

CENTRAL  WALES. 


To  the  student  of  the  rocks,  the  lover  of  ancient  lore  and 
ancient  British  history,  to  the  archa^logist  and  botanist 
Central  Wales  offers  a  splendid  field  of  research.  Wild  flowers, 
of  all  the  hues  of  tlie  rainbow,  and  rare  mountain  plants  deck 
the  vales  and  grace  the  mountain  side  and  top.  Euins  of 
abbeys,  churches,  Norman  and  British  castles,  and  old  British 
encampments  lie  scattered  over  tlie  land.  The  thoughts  of  the 
historian,  when  reverting  to  this  district,  centre  in  two  British 
heroes  :  the  more  ancient  Caractacus,  King  of  the  Silures,  who 
for  the  long  period  of  nine  years,  with  consummate  skill  and 
bravery,  fought  against  the  whole  power  of  the  great  Koman 
Empire,  to  be  at  last  basely  betrayed  into  their  hands ;  the 
other,  Llewellyn  ap  Gruffydd,  our  last  and  noble  prince  of 
Wales, 

"  The  martial  Prince  of  Dinefawr," 

who  met  his  untimely  end  about  two  miles  to  the  west  of 
J^uilth,  and  was  buried  no  man  knows  where. 

To  the  geologist  Central  Wales  is  a  very  paradise  of 
delight.  Here  are  exposed  to  view  rocks  of  the  oldest  forma- 
tion, in  fact,  excepting  the  Laurentian  and  Cambrian,  the  very 
oldest.  Here  also  shall  we  find  old  streams  of  lava  erupted 
at  a  period  when  Time  was  young—  so  young  that  Vesuvius 
and  -Etna  had  not  an  existence.  Proofs  innumerable  exist  by 
the  hill  sides  and  over  the  elevated  plateaux  of  that  period 
when  Wales  was  covered  with  glaciers  and  fields  of  ice.  For 
the  sake  of  continuity,  instead  of  taking  the  rocks  according 
to  their  stratigraphical  position,  I  will  Uike  them  as  a  tourist 
would  meet  them  on  his  way  from  the  source  of  the  Wye,  and 
its  tributaries,  till  it  empties  itself  into  the  Bristol  Channel. 
The  Wye,  till  we  come  to  Newbridge-on-Wye,  about  five  miles  to 
the  north-west  of  Builth,  drains  a  country  the  strata  of  which  are 
composed  of  rock  of  the  Lower  Llandovery  and  Caradoc  periods. 
In  the  Government  Geological  sections,  to  the  south  of  the 
river  they  are  described  as  sandstone  and  shales,  then  argilla- 
ceous slates  in  contorted  beds,  followed  by  argillaceous  slates 
with  beds  of  thin  grit,  succeeded  by  blue  argillaceous  avid 
arenaceous  slates^  and  so  on  in  various  successions)  ^  s^tV^<&  o1 


262         REMINISCENCES  OF  CENTRAL  WAI.ES. 

folds  with  synclinal  and  anticlinal  curres,  till  we  come  to 
Alltwen,  on  Cardigan  Bay,  where  they  are  described  as  sand- 
stone interstratified  with  dark  slates. 

If  we  could  place  a  straight  edge  on  the  top  of  the  highest 
peak  of  this  district,  which  is  called  the  Great  Desert  of  Wales, 
and  continue  it  along  the  highest  peaks  till  we  came  to 
Cardigan  Bay,  the  line  would  be  almost  level.  It  occiurred 
to  Professor  Kamsay,  when  he  first  observed  this  circumstance, 
that,  "  at  a  period  of  geological  history  of  unknown  date, 
**  perha])s  older  than  the  beginning  of  the  new  red  sandstone, 
*'this  inclined  plane  that  touches  the  hill-tops  must  have 
"  represented  a  great  i)lain  of  marine  denudation."  To  the 
paleontologist  the  district  above  described  is  about  one  of  the 
most  interesting  that  I  know  of.  The  only  fossiliferous  strata  are 
sandstone  and  shale,  which,  after  some  hammering,  should 
yield  Hhynchonella  angustifrons,  atrypa  marginalis,  pentamerus 
undatus,  and  petraia.  All  the  rocks  westward  have  hitherto 
only  yielded  the  orthoceras  vagaus  and  a  few  annelids  or  wonn 
tracks. 

The  lover  of  physical  geohigy  will  tind  here  ample  8coj>e  for 
speculation.  About  sixteen  years  ago  a  series  of  jmpers 
appeared  in  the  Geological  Matjazinr^  written  by  jMt.  !)• 
Alack intosh,  who  endeavoured  to  prove  that  the  cliffs,  elevated 
j)lateaux  and  civms  of  Wales  W(^re  produced  b}'  marine  denude 
tion.  These  papers  were  answered  by  several  eminent 
geologists,  such  as  Professor  Jukes,  (r.  Poulett  Scroi>e,  and 
others,  who,  by  comj^nring  the  denudation  of  other  portions  of 
the  world  with  that  of  the  Wye  Valley,  were  of  opinion  that 
the  valley  itself,  its  gorges,  cliffs,  cwms,  escarpments,  Ac, 
were  produced  by  river  action,  subaerial  agencies,  frost,  snow, 
ice,  rain,  glaciers,  and  fields  of  ice.  Mr.  Mackintosh,  when  he 
examined  the  gorge  of  the  Wye,  above  Newbridge,  to  Mart^ 
Bridge,  above  Phayader,  came  to  what  he  called  the  denu- 
dation puzzle — a  longitudinal  valley  with  transverse  valleys 
entering  into  it.  Although  around  Phayader  and  near 
Doldowlod  there  is  a  little  difficulty  in  accounting  for  the 
gorges,  cwms,  &c. ;  yet,  as  these  are  the  old  palaeozoic  rocks, 
and  have  in  numerous  successive  epochs  gone  through  great 
vicissitudes  of  temperature,  exposed  to  all  the  denuding 
agencies  of  air,  running  water,  c^c,  we  are  forced  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  is  more  to  these  latter  agencies  that  Wales  is 
indebted  for  her  "  ancient  mountains  and  lovely  vales  "  than 
to  volcanic  or  diluvial  agencies.  The  w^eather  worn  tombstone 
tells  of  decay  which  shall  finally  result  in  the  pulverisation  of  the 
stone  itself.  The  "everlasting  hills"  shall  be  brought  low,  and 
what  is  now  land  shall,  in  the  course  of  ages,  become  covered  by 
the  sea.  To  the  geologist  a  thousand  years  are  but  as  one 
day,  and  although  it  requires  a  vast  amount  of  geological 


REMINISCENCES  OF  CENTRAL  WALES.         263 

study  to  comprehend  the  expression,  yet  if  we  only  will,  as  the 
l)oet  says — 

*'  Coino  forth  into  the  light  of  life, 
Let  nature  be  your  guide" 

we  shall  then  begin  to  understand  the  question  of  geological 
time. 

Professor  Ramsay,  in  treating  of  the  denudation  of  the  Weald, 
says: — "It  implies  a  lapse  of  time  so  long  that  by  natural 
processes  nearly  half  the  marine  moUusca,  and,  probably,  all  the 
terrestrial  species  of  mammalia  of  the  world,  have  disappeared, 
and  been  slowly  replaced  by  others.  This  may  mean  little  to 
those  who  believe  in  the  sudden  extinction  of  whole  races  of 
life ;  but  to  me  it  signifies  a  ])eriod  analagous  to  the  distance  of 
a  half-resolved  nebula,  the  elements  as  yet  being  wanting  to 
calculate  the  distance."  What  period  of  time  must  we,  there- 
fore, attribute  for  the  disintegration  and  washing  away  of 
continents,  the  waste  of  which  produced  the  Laurent ian  system ! 
— these  to  become  consolidated,  hardened,  and  metamori)hosed, 
and  elevated  above  the  sea  level,  to  be  again  denuded  for  the 
Cambrian ;  and  this  again  to  go  through  the  same  ]>rocesses  for 
the  i)roduction  of  the  8ilurir;n  system,  and  soon  throughout  the 
whole  of  the  paleozoic  and  mesozoic  stratas.  The  time  is  so 
immeasurably  great  that  the  mind  is  almost  lost  in  dwelling 
upon  it,  and  can  only  but  faintly  comprehend  the  vast  number 
of  cycles  of  epochs  it  must  have  taken  for  producing  such 
gigantic  results. 

Between  Rhayader  and  the  Drygam  mountain,  one  of  the 
highest  peaks  in  this  part  of  Breconshire  and  Cardiganshire, 
and  about  six  miles  to  the  north  of  Llanwrtyd,  up  the  Claemwen, 
a  tributary  of  the  Ellen,  which  is  a  tributary  of  the  Wye,  there 
occur  some  lead  mines.  It  is  believed  by  geologists  that  from 
the  mountain  above-mentioned  to  Cefn  Craig-y-Foel,  by 
Rhayader,  there  is  Trap  Dyke,  which  disturbed  the  strata,  and 
leafl  ore  occurs  thinly  on  its  strike.  In  this  district  there  is, 
and  has  been,  a  very  natural  desire  to  discover  minerals.  In  the 
country  many  years  ago  coal  was  the  great  cry ;  but  that  having 
collapsed,  the  attention  of  the  inhabitants  is  now  drawn  to  lead. 
As  an  old  student  of  the  district,  I  can  only  say  that  after  many 
years  of  systematic  examination  of  the  rocks  I  know  of  no  place 
in  the  Builth  or  Llanwrtyd  district  where  a  sufficient  amount  of 
lead  ore  can  be  extracted,  even  to  pay  for  the  labour.  But  of 
mines  and  minerals  I  shall  have  more  to  say  when  I  come  to  the 
Caemeddau  range  of  mountains  to  the  north  of  Builth. 

I  may  mention,  before  leaving  this  upper  }X)rtion  of  the  Wye, 
that  about  three  miles  to  the  north  of  Rhayader  there  is  a  village 
called  St.  Hermon's,  the  church  of  which  is  supposed  to  be  the 
fit.  Germanus  of  Giraldus.    Here  was  the  staff  of  St.  C^xwa, 


264         BOIINISCEXCES  OF  CENTRAL  WALES. 

which  was  saiil  to  be  very  efficacious  in  glandular  swellings.    A 
penny  was  the  ii>ual  pjiyment  for  a  trial  of  its  virtues,  bnt  its 
efficacy  was  generally  proportionate  to  the  amount  of  the  obhition. 
This  >ame  piirish  of  St.  Hermon's  forms  part  of  that  wilderness 
into  which,  according  to  Camden,  King  Vortigem  withdrew  after 
having  been  defeated  by  Hengist  and  Horsa.     At  Ehaiadir  Gwj 
— '•  the  cataract  of  the  Wye,"  or,  as  it  is  now  sj>elt,  Rhayader— 
tht*re  was  an  old  castle  built   by  Khys  ap  Gruffydd  to  check  the 
inroads  of  the  Normans.     The  fosse  is  all  that  remains  of  it. 
When  it   was    destroy etl    is    involved    in  obscurity.      On   the 
summits  of  Khiwgwraidd,  Dolfan  and  Owastaden,  between  Llan- 
drindod  Wells  and  Khayader,  that  interesting  lichen,  the  Stag 
Horn  Moss,  is  found  in  fair  abundance.     Descending  the  valley 
of   the  Wye,  we    next    find     the    Tarannon   shale,   on   which 
Newbridge-ou-Wye  is  built.     This  is  not  a  fossiliferous   strata; 
at  least  to  my  hammer  it  has  hitheilo  yielded  nothing.     Tliese 
Tarannon  shales,  according  to  ^lurchison,  correspond    to  the 
Woolhope  shales  in  the  Malvern  Tunnel.     Tlie  Tarannon  shales 
lie  at  the  base  of  the  Wenlock  from  Newbridge  to  Conw:iy, 
to  which  tbey  are  confonnable.     Running  tlnrough  this  forma- 
tion for  about  half-a-mile,  the  Wye  then  flows  through  WenUx-k 
shale  till  we  come  to  Built h  Koad.     This  Wenlock  band,  which 
appears  to  be  of  a  basin  shape,  is  very  fossilferous,  and  has 
yielded  many  entombed  crustaceans  to  grace  our  museums  and 
illustrate  the  life  of  that  period. 

At  Builth  Eoad  we  arrive  at  one  of  the  most  interesting 
sections  through  which  the  Wye  flows.  At  the  north-western 
entrance  to  this  celelnated  section,  called  by  the  emphatic  name 
*'The  Hocks,"  we  have  first  the  I  pper  Llandovery,  upon  which 
the  Wenlock  shale  rests  uncon  form  ably,  and  the  Llandovery 
imconformably  upon  the  uptilted  edges  of  the  Llandeilo.  In 
this  thin  band  of  only  about  a  few  yards  thickness  are  to  be 
found  in  abundance  Pentamerus  oblongus,  Petraia  subduplicata, 
&c.,  the  whole  rock  presenting  the  appearance  of  a  consolidates! 
sea  beach,  and  reminding  the  student  of  an  Old  LlandoNery  sea 
washing  and  denuding  away  an  Old  Llandeilo  continent. 

Many  years  ago,  when  my  attention  was  first  directed  to 
geology,  I  was  searching  for  this  band  in  the  bed  of  the  river, 
when  I  was  accosted  by  a  keeper  of  the  sylvan  groves,  who 
wanted  to  know  my  business.  To  tliis  1  replied,  '^  Fishing." 
*'  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  on  for1:)idden  ground  ?''  was  the 
rejoinder.  This  was  my  first  experience  that  the  record  of  the 
rocks  was  forbidden  ground ;  but  though  forbidden  the  fruit  has 
been  found  good  and  pleasant  to  the  eyes.  However,  I  produced 
my  fishing  tackle,  consisting  of  a  small  pick  and  hammer,  and 
then  was  i)ermitted  to  go  my  way  rejoicing.  For  many  years 
those  who  were  dipping  into  these  mysteries  of  nature  were 
regarded  with  an  eye  of  suspicion;  they  were  supposed  to  be 


BEMINiyCEXCES  OF  CENTRAL  WALES.        265 

enthusiasts,  and  as  desirous  of  overturning  the  recognised  belief 
of  the  time.  Since  then  a  better  day  has  arisen.  The  living 
l>eings  that  formerly  inhabited  our  seas,  and  are  found  entombed 
in  tie  rocks,  are  now  no  longer  regarded  as  having  been 
deposited  by  the  Noachian  Deluge,  but  as  animals  that  lived  and 
died  through  various  successive  seas  and  oceans,  and  upon  which 
strata  after  strata,  thousands  of  feet  in  thickness,  have  been 
raised. 

The  Llandovery  or  Pentamera  beds,  referred  to  above,  extend 
in  a  northerly  direction,  to  a  little  more  than  half  way  betwixt 
Builth  and  Llandrindod  Wells,  and  there  disappear,  owing  to  a 
fault  which  occurs  in  tliis  part  of  the  district.  Below  these 
Pentamera  beds  we  find  the  Filandeilo  shales.  These  shales  are 
most  prolific  with  trilobites;  the  chardcteristic  one  being  the 
Ogygia  Buchii.  In  going  through  the  gorge,  the  shales 
present  a  variety  of  appearances.  Those  in  close  contact  with 
the  Trap  rocks,  which  are  being  partially  developed,  upon  being 
struck  with  the  hammer  produced  a  ringing  porcelanic  sound. 
( )thers  were  almost  baked  up,  and  shivered  by  the  great  heat 
which  they  must  have  undergone.  The  fisherman  when 
walking  along  these  rocks  can  easily  distinguish  between  the 
Trap  rocks  and  the  shales.  The  former  are  rough  and  catching, 
whilst  the  latter  are  smooth  and  slipper}'.  It  is  also  easy  to 
account  for  the  numerous  deep  holes,  and  consequently  salmon 
catches,  that  are  found  in  the  short  space  of  about  half  a  mile. 
The  igneous  rock  being  of  a  compact  nature,  and  very  hard  in 
its  texture,  oflfers  great  resistance  to  the  denuding  agencies, 
whereas  the  shales  are  more  quickly  worked  upon  by  the  same- 
means.  As  my  reminiscences  of  this  Llandeilo  shale  and  of 
the  other  rocks  below  Builth,  of  the  rocks  around  Llandrindod 
and  up  the  Irvon  Valley  are  so  numerous,  I  will  reserve 
them  for  a  future  paper. 

Builth.  D.  Grii-fiths. 


G*).ScJIP  f foiM  Tfl£    WELSH   COLLEGES. 


Ml-LKliE,   OXFnRP. 


Wi><;amKii|i  a  w^ok  earlier  tiian  nma\,  i>anly  bec;itise  Easter 
fallii  «arly  au'I  partly  l««aiise  ii  wa:*  iiei.e>sarT,-  that  the  '"  Eight " 
Mh»iilrl  get  fill  the  river  as  swn  a.-,  possibk-.  College  news  is 
twarw;  ;  everything  Mrt-ms  to  be  going  on  much  as  usual,  the 
only  item  of  interest  jb  the  concert  which  we  gave  in  the  Town 
Hall  on  Saturday,  January  'd7,  ioaid  of  the  funds  of  the  I'liiversity 
brani-ii  of  the  C.E.T.S.  It  was  pronount-eii  a  great  success.  The 
Welnh  Nongr*  were  rapturously  encored.  "Hen  wladfy  Nhadau" 
wnK  eMjrf-cially  well  rendered.  .So  were  "  Stranded,"  liy  Mr.  C. 
D'Oyly-WiitkinH,  anri  "  Tlie  Three  .Sailor  lioy:i;'  by  ib-.  Griffith 
WilliiunH,  with  Hcveral  others.  Mr.  \V.  J.  Morris's  comic 
Kketcli,  •*  .Mitddleton  House,"  was  the  great  feature  of  the  eitter- 
fHiiJiiient,  and  met  with  the  applause  it  well  deserved.  The 
Itev.  th«  I'rineipal  (irexided  and,  in  a  humorous  speech,  intro- 
«lu(»;d  UK  UH  "  Sons  of  the  land  beyond  the  .Severn." 

A  Ncheine  for  the  amalgamation  of  our  College  Clubs  (a.s 
ntgnnlH  finances)  hafijuat  been  sanctioned  by  a  College  meeting 
of  uiiditrgnidunleH,  in  accordance  with  which  supreme  power  in 
jM-cimiary  mHtters  is  vested  in  a  central  committee,  consisting 
of  tlie  treiuurt'rs  of  the  five  College  Clubs,  under  the  presidency 
iifthe  Itcv.  (lie  iJean. 


GOSSIP  FROM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES.        267 

Lent  commenced  to-day,  and  for  the  past  fortnight  Oxford  has 
seen  a  continuous  run  of  dances,  dinner  parties,  at  homes,  &c., 
I^efore  the  Penitential  season  banishes  gaiety  and  pleasure  for  a 
time. 

I  may  here  say  a  word  about  our  present  scoiu"ge — scarlet  fever 
— which  seems  to  be  making  a  tierce  onslaught  on  the  'Varsity. 
Balliol,  Keble,  University,  New  College,  Queen's,  and  Christ 
<.'hurch,  all  have  cases.  One  Keble  man  died  from  it  last  week 
after  little  more  than  a  day's  illness.  Indeed,  matters  seemed 
so  serious  a  few  days  since  that  it  was  reported  that  we  were  all 
to  be  sent  down  to  prevent  the  spread  of  the  epidemic,  which 
general  gossip  attributes — not  without  reason — to  tainted  milk. 

The  present  would  be  a  fitting  opportunity  for  establishing 
the  long-talked  of  and  much-needed  University  Sanatorium.  It 
must  seem  strange  to  the  outside  world  that  no  such  institution 
exists  in  Oxford,  and,  indeed,it  is  only  the  unusually  healthy  state 
of  the  University  which  has  prevented  the  absence  of  a  sanatorium 
from  long  since  becoming  a  public  scandal.  Another  much-felt 
grievance  is  the  rate  which  is  to  be  levied  on  us  to  meet  the  ex- 
])enses  of  the  Commission  which  sat  here  for  nearly  a  year  to 
in<|uire  into  the  alleged  corrupt  practices  at  the  city  election  in 
LS80.  The  University  authorities  lost  their  appeal  on  the  case, 
and  the  University  chest  was  condemned  to  contribute  its  quota, 
consequently  undergraduate  Oxford,  as  usual,  has  to  bear  the 
burden,  and  each  man  is  t  o  be  rated  at  3s.  6d.  The  sum  is . 
certainly  small,  but  the  principle  at  stake  is  a  great  one.  Not 
one  half  of  us  had  matriculated  when  tlie  election  took  place, 
and  the  other  half  who  ivere  up  were  locked  within  the  College 
walls  after  Hall  to  prevent  rowdyism  ;  yet  all  alike  are  to  be 
]mnished  for  an  offence  to  which  they  could  not  even  have  been 
pai-ties. 

Our  crew^  is  now  made  up  permanently,  and  bids  fair  to  repeat 
last  year's  success.  Cambridge  is  rather  weaker  than  usual,  and 
1  hear  they  are  using  the  services  of  an  Oxford  man  as  "  coach." 

The  "  tori)ids  "  commence  on  the  22nd,  and  all  the  crews  are 
already  in   training.     Corpus  and  Brazenose  seem  to  be    the  . 
favourites. 

levers  of  Welsh  literature  will  feel  encouragement  and 
pleasme  in  hearing  that  the  Oxford  l:nion  Society  have  decided 
by  a  large  majority  to  take  in  the  review  F?'  Yinofynydd.  For 
my  own  part  I  should  have  prefen^ed  seeing  the  Red  Dragon 
or  ¥  Cymrodor  in  the  society's  magazine  room. 

The  site  of  the  new  Indian  Institute  is  almost  ready  for  com- 
mencing work,  and  preparations  are  being  rapidly  made  for  next 
term's  ceremony,  when  the  Prince  of  Wales  comes  do^vn  to  lay 
the  foundation  stone.  It  seems  a  pity  that  aiTangements  cannot 
be  made  that  the  ceremony  shoiUd  take  place  in  Commemora- 
tion  Week. 


268         GOSSIP  FROM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES. 

I  have  seen  the  proposed  programme  for  the  CardiflFEisteddfod 
in  the  summer,  and,  from  what  X  hear,  men  here  seem  rather  dis- 
appointed with  it,  so  few  jiubjects  are  at  all  English  in  character 
— and  one  would  expect  that  such  would  be  the  case,  at  any 
rate  at  a  South  WaXea  meeting-  -and  no  prizes  are  to  be  given 
for  essays  on  subjects  of  daily  interest ;  the  education  question 
andothersof  similar  importance  are  pushed  aside  to  make  way 
for  incompetent  articles  on  Welsh  literature  and  eulogies  of 
local  worthies — iu  fact,  the  character  of  the  syllabus  is  more 
clannish  than  national. 

We  hail  with  i^atisfaction  the  new  appointment  to  the  throne 
of  lilandaff,  yet  not  without  a  disappointment  that  the  claims  of 
the  alumni  of  the  College  of  Wales  should  again  be  ignored. 
Dean  Edwards,  (.'anon  Lewis,  and  the  Vicar  of  Mold,  between 
whom  it  was  sup^x>sed  the  choice  lay.  were  all  Jesu»  men,  and 
eny  one  would  be  a  good  appointment ;  still,  the  die  is  cast,  and 
we  loyally  welcome  the  new  Bisliop.  May  his  episcojwicy  be  as 
successful  and  as  long  as  his  predecessor's. 

When  I  next  write  I  hope  I  s^hall  have  more  of  interest  to  tell 
you.  It  will  then  he  \'acatiiin,  and  Hilary  Term,  1883,  will  be 
over  for  good  or  bad. 

TiLYITt    COCH. 

Jesus  College,  O.cjuvd,  As},.  llVi/,*m/((^,  188;t. 


UNIVERSITY   COLLECiE   Ol-'   WAT-ES,  ABEEYSTWITH. 

Michaelmas  term  ended  with  the  annual  conversazione,  which 
was  this  year  as  great  a  success  as  ever,  finishing  a  happily- 
epent  term  with  a  hapi>y  close.  The  College  Hall  was  decorated 
with  the  pictures  bequeathed  by  the  late  Isir.  Powell,  of  Nanteos, 
in  whose  death  the  College  has  exiierieneed  the  greatest  loss. 


GOSSIP  FROM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES.         269 

For  years  he  had  taken  the  keenest  interest  in  the  College,  for 
in  it  the  two  great  elements  in  his  character,  pointed  out  by 
the  Principal  in  his  prologue  to  the  concert,  his  kindness  of 
heart  and  his  literary  culture,  could  find  an  object  to  befriend 
and  benefit.  Scarcely  a  month  passed  without  some  addition 
to  the  library  and  museum  through  his  generosity,  and  the  lands 
in  which  llr.  Powell  travelled  could  be  always  known 
from  some  rarest  curios  in  them  which  ever  found 
their  way  to  the  College.  The  pictures,  150  in  number, 
include  specimens  of  Bume  Jones  and  others,  and  one 
of  the  i^ainter-poet  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti ;  in  many  of 
them  we  recognise  the  originals  of  the  wood-cuts  in  Mr.  Powell's 
translation  of  the  Icelandic  legends  of  J6n  Amason.  In  addi- 
tion to  these  a  well-chosen  and  valuable  collection  of  about  l,t>00 
books  was  bequeathed,  containing  the  best  editions  of  English 
and  French  poets,  a  great  number  of  books  on  the  literature  of 
the  North  of  Europe,  and  a  rich  collection  of  books  on  the  folk- 
lore and  ballad  literature  of  almost  every  nation.  This  last  gift 
of  Mr.  Powell's  is  worth  over  £2^500. 

Two  new  professors  were  welcomed  at  the  beginning  of  this 
term — Mr.  W.  N.  Parker  as  Professor  of  Biology,  and  Mr.  Henry 
Jones  as  Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy.  Mr.  Jones,  in  addition 
to  a  lecture  given  every  morning  to  the  B.A.  class  on  the  philo- 
sophy of  Herbert  Spencer  and  his  school,  delivers  two  public 
lectures  every  week,  one  on  ancient  and  the  other  on  modem 
philosophy.  These  lectures  are  well  attended  and  the  interest 
in  them  ever  increases  ;  the  rising  fame  of  the  Welsh  philosopher, 
his  attractive  treatment  of  his  subject,  and  the  graces  of  his 
oratory,  combine  to  make  his  lectures  as  well  attended  as  they 
are  pleasant. 

The  number  of  students  is  greater  this  term  than  it  has  ever 
been  before,  and  the  work  done  is  said  to  be  very  satisfactory. 
In  the  Ijondon  Matriculation  List,  published  last  week,  I  find 
the  names  of  seven  of  our  men,  mostly  in  the  first  division. 

Once  again  referring  to  the  prologue  to  the  conversazione,  the 
Principal  said  that,  in  turning  from  our  greatest  loss  in  the  death 
of  Mr.  Powell,  he  could  turn  to  our  greatest  gain  in  the  greatly 
increasing  interest  taken  in  the  College  by  Aberystwyth  town. 
This  institution  has  struggled  on  manfully  in  this  town  for  over 
ten  years  now,  and  the  good  people  of  Aberystwyth  seem  to  be 
determined  to  do  all  they  can  to  keep  it  here,  for  it  is  too  good 
to  lose.  Some  trusted  to  the  fact  that  the  magnificent  pile  of 
buildings  could  not  be  removed  from  their  town,  and  that  North 
Wales  was  too  poor  to  build  another,  as  insuring  that  the  College 
for  North  Wales  would  be  located  here,  until  rumours  found 
their  way  abroad  that,  though  Merioneth  may  be  mountainous 
and  Carnarvon  barren,  money  might  be  found  for  a  building 
farther  North,  if  North  Wales  wished  it.    Others  did  their  best 


:-/r.  riA\'iir.-  'ci.i.k.,!:,  i.amI'KTKI:. 


'I-""  i-<? 

rnvl,.,,.  N.     'Ilii. 

Ilii'l i„U„„,\,- 

A     l,..vrllv     III      I 


i[i  .l;iriii;i(v  li!*,  with  tj.f  inatri.ul:iti..ii  .if  >ix 
l,ii.,|.,-ll..".|..l:.l  iiiii/.lwr  ff  r,i-»-  ftiiil,-nl,  tii- 
mi. ;il  viir  iiji  lo   11  -:i  ini.-t  sili^tii.l.iiv  l.itiil. 

—   in    I  If..   »liai.i.  i.r  a    fc.nnal   (■..Ik-g,- 

known  ni    Oxfonl   m   "  C'ulU-ctioiis  " 


GOSSIP  FROM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES.         271 

ushered  in  February.  The  men  were  arranged  in  class  lists^ 
and  praise  or  blame  have,  doubtless,  been  awarded  according  to 
their  position  therein.  It  is,  i)erhaps,  a  slight  improvement  on 
the  Oxford  custom  to  have  our  "  Collections  "  at  the  beginning 
instead  of  the  end  of  term.  It  gives  men  time  to  digest 
their  lectures  and  work  in  the  rjuietude  of  Vacation,  and  perhaps 
an  encouragement  not  to  waste  that  valuable  period  for  private 
study. 

Some  stir  has  been  excited  in  Lampeter  by  a  letter  of  the 
Principal  to  the  Times  about  the  Welsh  education  question,  in 
which  he  unfold«  a  scheme  of  Higher  Education  that  would 
involve  the  removal  of  St.  David's  College  to  a  larger  centre  of 
population.  It  is  needless  to  say  this  is  merely  a  proposal 
thrown  out  for  the  sake  of  discussion,  and  that,  granting  its- 
advisability,  great  difficulties  stand  in  the  way  of  its  realisation. 
Not  the  least  would  be  oiu:  regret  at  leaving  the  pleasant  town 
that  for  50  yecu-s  has  shared  in  the  vicissitudes  and  prosperity 
of  the  College.  Nowhere  else,  could  we  hope  for  more  com- 
modious buildings,  such  beautiful  and  spacious  grounds.  Amidst 
the  smoke  and  dust  of  a  large  town  we  might  well  sigh  in  vain 
for  the  clear  air  and  invigorating  breezes  of  the  Vale  of  Teifi.. 
Attachment  to  old  friends  and  places,  to  the  district  from 
which  we  ha\'e  always  drawn  so  large  a  proportion  of  our 
students,  would  all  make  a  removal  most  serious.  But  with  all 
its  attractions  Lampeter  is  small  and  remote,  and  the  current  of 
Higher  Education  is  certainly  setting  towards  large  towns.  St. 
Andrew's  declines  while  the  Universities  of  Glasgow  and 
PMinburgh  flourish.  Fortunately  we  have  no  reason  for  fear^ 
with  our  increasing  number  of  students.  But,  as  we  must  think 
of  the  future,  it  is  surely  the  duty  of  the  authorities  to  carefully 
consider  whether  it  is  best  for  the  College,  education,  and  the 
Church  that  St.  David's  College  should  remain  where  it  is,  or 
seek  a  wider  sphere  of  usefulness  in  a  larger  centre  of  population. 
Everyone  would  be  glad  if  it  were  resolved  that  there  is  no  need 
for  so  violent  a  break  in  the  history  of  the  College. 

It  has  been  our  misfortune  to  have  to  play  the  first  "  cup 
match"  with  the  brilliant  Swansea  fifteen.  On  Saturday^ 
February  10,  they  came  to  our  ground  here  and  gave  us  the 
expected  beating.  Not  very  strong  before  the  Vacation,  six 
weeks  without  practice  prov^  too  much  for  us.  But  we  hope 
their  long  journey  has  not  been  taken  in  vain,  and  that  cordial 
relations  between  the  two  clubs  may  be  established. 

T. 


•  — 


»-r.^-     T    _.: 


/  - 


•   I 


*  .* 


■ 


*'      i      • 


•  / 


OUR   "RED  DRAGONS"  AT  WESTMINSTER.     273 

that  which  it  has  so  soon  succeeded  ?  Will  it  Ixs  marked  bv 
sensational  episodes.  Ministerial  crises  ;  by  Whig  mutiny,  or 
Radical  and  Home  Rule  coalition  ;  by  front  bencli  intrigues,  by 
iloubtful  divisions,  and  by  attempts  suddenly  sprung  upon  the 
House  to  appease  the  insatiable  appetitci  of  the  Cerberu?? 
of  Irish  sedition  ?  Shall  we  have  a  Treaty  of  Cannes  as 
a  sequel  to  the  Treaty  of  Kilmainham  ?  Shall  we  have 
another  collision  between  the  Popular  and  the  Upper 
("hambers?  What  will  Lord  Salisbury  do?  How  will  Sir 
Stafford  Noithcote  lead  the  Opposition  in  the  Lower  House  ? 
Shall  we  have  Lord  Randolph  Churchill  openly  espousing 
the  new  Tory  democracy  and  forming  a  party  for  the 
pur])Ose  of  giving  eflfect  to  its  principles  ?  It  seems  cle^ir, 
we  think,  that  the  Session  will  be  as  noisy  and  as  pro- 
tracted as  usual ;  that  it  will  be  as  Irish  as  our  Irish  masters 
can  make  it ;  but  whether  it  will  be  a  useful,  or  a  prolific,  or  an 
eventful,  or  a  disastrous  Session,  the  astrologer  is  unable  to  say. 
There  is  a  full  muster  of  the  Faithful,  and  in  this  muster  we,  of 
course,  include  the  Welsh  brigade.  As  usual  the  struggle  to 
be  the  "  first  member  in  "  was  fought  bravely,  and  with  the 
unsatisfactory  result  that  several  hon.  gentlemen  claim  the 
honour.  j\Ir.  Dillwyn,  after  his  entertainment  at  Swansea,  has 
come  up  with  much  added  importance.  He  bears  his  blushing 
honours  well — the  honours  which  Mr.  Chamberlain  heaped 
upon  him  as  if  with  a  shovel,  or  with  a  whitewash  brush. 
The  hon.  gentleman's  future  has,  of  course,  been  settled  by  the 
Aj)ostle  Jose])h.  He  will  sit  and  applaud  all  who  speak  from 
the  Treasury  Bench,  and  will  vote  steadily  for  all  things  that 
come  out  of  the  Radical  Nazareth,  and  will  dangle  all  Mr. 
Gladstone's  legislative  babies  upon  his  venerable  knee,  nor  ask 
a  question. 

Give  me  the  avowed,  erect  and  manly  foe, 

Firm  I  can  meet,  )>erha|>8  can  turn  the  blow  ; 

But  of  all  the  plaguen,  good  Heaven,  thy  wrath  can  send, 

Save,  oh,  save  me,  from  a  candid  friend. 

Tliere  was,  apparently,  in  the  shrewd  mind  of  the  Apostle 
Joseph  a  fear  that  Mr.  I)illwyn  might  bud  into  a  plague  of  that 
description*  K  so  I  think  Mr.  Chamberlain  did  Mr.  Dillwyn  a 
great  wrong. 

There  was  undoubtedly  a  great  struggle  for  places  yesterday, 
and  hon.  gentlemen  who  have  long  yearned  for  the  rewards  of 
patient  party  sei*vitude  hurried  down  to  the  Legislative  Palace 
resolved  to  secure  seats,  at  all  events  if  not  at  any  price,  even 
at  the  price  of  a  cab  fere.  Amongst  those  who  made  a 
<lesperately  heroic  attempt  to  carry  off  the  Parliamentary  Derby 
were  Mr.  Dillwyn,  !Mr.  Henry  Richard,  Mr.  Warton,  and  Mr. 
John  Roberts.  Each  of  these  hon.  gentlemen  sallied  from  his 
abode  shortly  after  the  breakfast  hour,  and  by  devious  paths 
reached  the  treasured  Chamber.    What  was  the  disgust  of  each 

s 


274     OUR  "BED  DRAGONS"  AT  WESTMINSTER. 

to  find  a  man  already  in  i)ossession  ?  It  is  true  the  man  in 
possession  was  only  a  hat,  but,  as  I  have  ahready  pointed  out,  a 
hat,  in  Parliamentary  procedure,  is  equivalent  to  an  articulatorv 
tenant.  First  came  ]\lr.  Warton,  snuff-box  in  hand,  and  a  yard 
of  flaming  bandana  trailing  from  his  coat  pocket,  like  the  British 
ensign  in  a  lazy  calm.  He  was  promptly  joined  by  Mr.  Dillwyii, 
who,  looking  daggers  at  the  member  for  Bridport,  seemed  to 
regret  that  he  could  not  despatch  the  hon.  gentleman  on  the 
spot,  and  conceal  his  useless  trunk  under  the  Sj>eakers  Chair, 
or  "  put  it  in  the  bag  "  used  for  burying  petitions  in.  Indeed,  it 
is  difficult  to  say  what  might  not  have  happened  if  the  *'  Herald 
of  Peace,"  in  the  person  of  the  senior  member  for  Merthyr,  had 
not  opportunely  entered.  ]Mr.  Richard  swallowed  his  astonish- 
ment at  finding  he  had  been  anticipated,  despite  the  fact  that 
lie  sacrificed  the  larger  part  of  his  breakfast  in  the  enterprise. 
Whilst  the  members  for  Swansea  and  Merthyr  were  glaring  U|xm 
the  membtr  for  Bridport,  the  flaming  visage  and  bristling  eye- 
brows of  the  "  Red  Dragon ''  of  Flint  were  observed  like  a 
danger  signal,  lianging  in  the  seditious  gloom  of  the  space 
l)chind  the  Speaker's  Chair. 

At  this  moment,  the  truculent  hat  of  the  member  for 
Colchester  was  observed,  and  the  outraged  quartette  of 
unsuccessful  rivals  fell  upon  it  in  spirit  and  sentiment, 
if  not  with  fist  and  boot.  Mr.  Warton,  chuckling  an  imtating 
chuckle,  "  snuffed ''  himself  to  his  seat  and  finally  out 
of  the  Chamber,  whilst  Mr.  Dillwyn  set  about  making 
his  lair,  at  the  top  of  the  front  Ministerial  I^ench  below  the 
gangway,  secure,  and  Messrs.  Henry  Richard  and  John  Roberts 
occupied  themselves  in  exdianging  aft'ectionate  intjuiries 
after  their  respective  healths  and  the  condition  of  their 
*'abegastriums."  Whether  Lord  Emlyu,  who  arrived  about  noon, 
was  audacious  enough  to  believe  that  he  would  win  the  coveted 
distinction  of  being  the  **  first  member  in,"  this  deponent 
knoweth  not,  but  the  noble  lord  the  member  for  Carmarthen- 
shire certainly  hurried  in  at  a  splendid  pace,  only,  however, 
to  encounter  Sir  Henry  Hussey  Vivian  "  red  handed  "  under  the 
clock.  At  a  later  hour  of  the  sitting,  however,  the  noble  Viscount 
justified  his  legislative  zeal  by  giving  notice  of  a  resolution 
for  relieving  local  rates  from  some  portion  of  the  maintenance 
of  in-door  poor.  After  some  vicissitudes  and  not  a  little 
<'xcitement  occasioned  by  Mr.  Bradlaugh's  feint  against  the 
Ifouse,  we  proceeded  with  unclouded  intellect  to  glorify  or 
•denounce  the  Gladstonian  Government  and  all  its  works.  There 
was  now  a  goodly  and  highly  representative  gathering  of 
*'  lied  Dragons.''  At  midnight  we  went  home  to  bed  after  some 
fifteen  hours  passed  under  the  roof  of  St.  Stephen's. 

House  of  Coiariio)i8^  Febmiary  I6th,  1883. 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS. 


Journalistic  London  consists  of  a  series  of  sketches  of  famous 
men  and  papers  of  the  day  by  the  well-known  journalist  and 
author,  Mr.  Joseph  Hatton.  The  work  has  been  reprinted,  with 
^  few  additions  from  JIarper'a  Magazine^  in  a  handsome  volume 
of  249  pages.  One  great  drawback  obser^'able  about  thin 
production  is  that  its  information  is  not  yrritteii  up  to  date ;  a 
shortcoming  for  which  the  reasons  given  by  the  author  in  an 
apologetical  preface  may  be  valid  and  sufficient.  "  The  history 
of  the  newspaper  press,"  says  Mr.  Hatton,  "changes  almost  as 
rapidly  as  the  eflfects  which  a  landscape  artist  vainly  tries  to  fix 
upon  his  canvas  in  permanent  form  and  colour.  If  these  pon- 
and-ink  reminiscences  of  a  great  subject  are  judged  in  the  spirit 
of  this  similitude,  I  shall  not  be  expected  to  be  as  ubiquitous  as 
the  daily  journalist,  whose  ink  is  never  dry  and  whose  chronicles 
are  never  ending."  The  changes  in  journalism  are  not  so  very  rapid 
as  the  comj^arisonjustmade  would  indicate.  What  really  remains 
to  be  determined,  however,  is  whether  the  author  has  been 
diligent  in  noting  effects  down  to  within  a  reasonable  period  of 
publication,  or  whether,  his  MS.  having  lain  by  him  for  years,  he 
has  been  content  to  let  things  "  slide  "  without  troubling  himself 
very  much  in  the  direction  of  touching  up.  But  why  should  we 
go  discussing  such  a  question  in  a  notice  like  the  present  ?  We 
won't  do  it  for  the  reason  chiefly  that  to  show  wherein  Mr. 
Hatton  has  fallen  short  would  take  up  too  much  space. 

Of  the  whole  work  the  earlier  chapters  are  unquestionably  the 
best.  The  author  when  dealing  with  the  past  touched  ground 
that  never  shifted  ;  his  grasp  of  the  subject  is  consequently  at 
this  stage  firm,  his  treatment  clear  and  interesting.  There  is 
:SoM[ie  very  pleasant  gossip  at  the  beginning  of  thebook,concerning 
old  London  and  its  taverns — those  birthplaces  of  wit — the 
earliest  printing  offices  and  book  shops,  news[>apers  and  novelists. 
"The  True  Story  of  Punchy ^  contributed  by  the  author  to 
Louden  Sodetyy  is  freely  drawn  upon  for  the  materials  of  the 
third  chapter,  from  which  "  the  charming  versification"  of  Shirley 
Brooks  might  have  been  omitted  without  any  great  detriment 
to  the  book  or  the  author's  reputation  as  a  connoisseur  in  poetry. 
As  remarkable  a  feature  as  any  in  this  collection  of  pax>ers  is  aa 

s  2 


276       MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS. 

unduly  obtrusive  Telegiaphomania.  It  looks  very  much  as  thougk 
the    author,  in   the  chapter  entitled  "Provincial    Outposts," 
went  purposely  out  of  his  way  to  defend  Mr.  Lawson  against 
the  attack  of  a  brother  journalist  who  had  mercilessly  chaffed 
him  lor  mentioning  th(*  Premier  as  "  my  friend  Mr.  Gladstone." 
What  in  the  world  could  Mr.  Hatton  have  been  thinking  of 
when  he  wrote  that  "  a  great  journal  like  the  Daily   Telegraph 
wields    as    powerful    an  influence    as   Mr.  Gladstone?"     The 
thing    is   palpably   absurd   in    the   sense    here    meant.      As 
.powerful,  or  more  powerful,  an  influence  in  the  excitement  of 
feelings    resulting    from    sensational   reading    to    which     no 
particular   meaning   is  attached    the    Daily    Telegraph    may 
lK)ssess  ;   but  to  compare  the  political  influence  of  the  journal, 
for  that  is  what  Mr.  Hatton  means,  with  the  political  influence 
of  the  Premier — pooh  !  The  point  is  beneath  serious  argument. 
Mr.  Hatton  has  some  very  pleasant  and  instructive  chat   in 
reference   to  the   establishment  of    the  Daily  News   and  the 
vicissitudes  of  its  early  career.      There   are    photographs   of 
several  men  of  the  Timea^  including  the  pres(»nt  Home  Secretary 
("Historicus"),   John  Oxenford,  M.  Klowitz — "that  ridiculous 
creature  our  Paris  correspondent,"  as  a  critic  in  the  St.  James's 
Gazette  termed  him  the  other  day — the   late  !Mr.  Delane,  the 
editor,  and  Dr.  Wm.  H.  Kussell,  the  Crimean   correspondent. 
8ome  very  good  things  are  told  concerning  Messrs,  Yates  and 
Ijabouchere,  when   their   respective   journals.  The  World   and 
Truths  come  to  be  dealt  with.     In  the  paii:  of  the  book  treating 
of  the   Daily   Telegraphy  Mr.    Edwin   Amold   is   apotheosised 
after  a  fashion   we   cannot  altogether   relish.     Why  occupy  a 
page  with  a  fac-simile  of  that  piece  of  foolery  the  King  of  Siam's 
diploma    appointing   Mr.    Arnold    an    officer   of    the    White 
Elephant?     Had  the   document   possessed   something   of  the* 
humorous  nature  of  the  "Letter  of  the  Emperor  of  China  to 
Dr.  Thomas  8ewall,  on  the  merits  of  Phrenology,"  printed  by 
George  Combe,  in  the   appendix  to  the  third  volume  of   his- 
Notes     in     the    United    States^    some     pleasure    and    profit 
might  have    been   got  from   it.     The    author  devotes,  almost 
to  a   ])age,  the  same  amount  of  space  to   Mr.   Edwin    Amold 
that  he  does  to  the  limes  and  all  its  staif  put  together,  and 
then  gives  ten  pages  to  the  '^ Daily  Telegraph  Staflf"  in  addition;- 
of  these  ten  about  a  i>age  only  being  given  to  George  Augustus 
ISala,  by  far  the  best  known  man  on  the  paper.     To  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette    and   its    editor,    John     Morley,     and     to     the 
St  James's  Gazette  and  its  editor,  Frederick  Greenwood,  barely 
four  pages  are  given,  and  yet  in  point  of  importance  and  literary 
ability  these  men  and  these  journals — well,   comparisons   are 
odious,  they  say.     For  the  narrative  of  the  escape  from  death 
as  a  Prussian  spy  of  the  war  correspondent,  Mr.  Laing  Meason, 
reprinted  from  Jdacmillan's  Magazvae,  Mr.  Hatton  deserves  our 


MARGINAL  NOTES  OX  LIBRARY  BOOKS.        277 

heartiest  thanks.     There  is  nothing  in  fiction  to  beat  it.      Of 
the   remainder  of  the   book   probably  the    most    interesting 
portions  are  those  detailing   the   speculations   in    journalism 
made  by  the  late  Serjeant  Cox,  the  histories  of  the  Morning 
Post  and  the  two  pictorial  weeklies,  the  Illustrated  London 
News  and  The  Oraphic,     Mr.  Hatton  throws  out  a  hint  which 
is  sure  to  be  attended  to  before  long.     London,  he  tells  us,  has 
no   local  paper.     Its  present  journals   confine   themselves   to 
matters  of  general  interest  as  regards  news,  those  of  purely 
local  interest  being  passed  over  unnoticed.     From  the  editorial 
chair  a  survey  is  made  of  all  the  world,  but  the  view  does 
not   include   small    things    lying  close   at   the   editor's   feet. 
Perhaps  this  accounts  for   the  singular  ineffectiveness  of  the 
editorial  comments.     People  who  have  nothing  to  do  are,  so  as 
to   kill   time,   bound   to  read  the  eff'usions,   but  though,  like 
sermons,   they   come  forth   by  the  thousand,   nobody   appears 
much  the  wiser  or  the  better  for  them  at  the  year's  end.     It  is, 
I  say,  because  these  Metropolitan  journals  take    such  wide 
excursions  that  their  remarks  lose  force.     The  light  which,  con- 
centrated upon  objects   near   at  hand — with  which  a  district 
journal  may  be  perfectly  competent  to  deal — becomes  penumbral 
when  its  rays  are  scattered  over  too  wide  a  horizon.     The  public 
{*oon  get  to  know  that  everything  from  China  to  Peru  must  be 
descanted  upon  by  the  editor  of  a  London  journal,  and  once 
knowing  it  they  smile  and  pass  on.     There  is  another  branch  of 
the  subject  that  deserves  consideration.     Mr.  Hatton  appears  to 
me  to  think  that  the  London  editor,  with  his  private  wire,  his 
liobby    and  club  gossip,  is  a  kind    of  nervous  centre  of  such 
'exquisite    sensitiveness    that    the    very  faintest   vibration    in 
the  political  world  communicates  itself  at  once  to  one  of  his 
numerous    ganglia,   and   is   thence  transmitted   to  the  head. 
Were  this  true  London  would    be   England,  the   world.      But 
the  fact  is  that  London  journalism,  however  wide-awake  it  may 
believe  itself  to  be,  is  constantly  found  napping  and  passed  in 
the  race  by  that  of  the  country.     The  fact  is  also  that  Ijondon 
journalism,    while    it    thinks     itself    en    rapport    with    St. 
Petersburg,  Berlin,  Vienna,  Paris,  and  New  York,  is  often  as 
ignorant  as  the  man  in  the  moon  of  the  state  of  feeling  existing 
under  its  very  nose.     This  was  notoriously  the  case  at  the  two  last 
general  elections,  when  the  majority  of  Metropolitan  newspapers 
no   more  reflected  the  actual  feeling   of  the  English  people 
4:han  if  they  had   been  published  at  Shanghai  or  Cape  Horn. 
To  find  the  feeling  of  the  country  you  must  search  the  news- 
papers of  the  country,  just  as  to  find  the  feeling  of  London 
jou    search    not  the   London    newspaper,  which,   aiming    at 
universal  knowledge  and  wisdom,  misses  even  the  little  bit  of 
neither  that  would  be  useful  to  the  rest  of  the  world. 
•    The  last  of  Mr.  Swinburne's  collectanea  he  has  christened 


278       ]VIARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS. 

TriatraTn  of  Lyonesae  and  other  poems.  There  are  scores  of 
verse  writers  now  living,  but  the  poets  may  be  counted  on  the 
fingers  of  one  hand.  Of  the  genuine  sons  of  song  Victor  Hugo 
18  one,  and  Swinburne  another,  let  the  third  and  fourth  be 
who  they  may.  The  great  objection  to  Swinburne  is  that  his- 
poetry  is  tainted  with  a  fleshUness  dangerous  to  the  contact  of 
any  but  a  professional  dissector — a  charge  easier  made  than 
refuted.  \N'e  may  in  some  future  paper  give  a  study  of  thi& 
poet,  whose  impetuosity  of  imagination  carries  ever3rt bin g  before 
it,  whose  morals  are  only  to  be  judged  by  a  code  which  he  seems- 
to  have  invented  for  himself,  whose  pictures  have  a  fierce- 
ness of  colour  that  scorches  the  tyro  as  though  the  door  of  some 
fiery  furnace  had  suddenly  been  opened  upon  him,  or  he  had 
been  dropped  from  mid-air  upon  the  shores  of  a  seething  lake 
of  lava.  But  the  more  used  to  him  we  become  the  more  we  see 
the  beauty  and  the  perfection  of  his  workmanship,  until,  by- 
and-bye,  under  the  infection  of  his  own  wild  enthusiasm,  we 
would  as  soon  think  of  associating  his  images  with  indelicacy  as 
we  would  of  charging  the  art  student  with  immodesty  because  he 
drew  firom  the  living  model.  Our  own  first  impressions,  when 
we  endeavoured  to  recall  them,  have  struck  us  as  being  little 
less  mawkish  than  those  of  the  uneducated  gazer  who  should 
object  to  the  Apollo  Belvedere  or  the  Venus  de  Medici  because 
of  flimsiness  or  absence  of  drapery. 

Next  to  this  warmth  of  tone  is  the  wealth  of  alliteration 
observable  about  Mr.  Swinburne's  poetry.  Line  upon  line  of 
ever-recurring  initials  that  are  identical  not  only  lend  smooth- 
ness to  the  rhythm,  but  compression  to  the  thought  very  often.. 
Thus  in  the  prelude  to  Ti^train  we  are  told  that — 

"  Love  led  love  as  eyeless  men  lead  men," 

a  crystallised  thought,  making  "  involved  "  music  of  the  most 
exquisite  description  at  this  touch  of  the  hand  of  a  master. 
But  we  are  drifting. 

Of  Tristram's  story,  the  hint  supplied  in  Tennyson's  Idylls 
of  the  King  will  be  the  one  most  readily  brought  to  mind. 
Concerning  the  young  knight's  love,  the  beauteous  Iseult,  it  is- 
said  that  her — 

"  Clear  cheeks  and  throat  and  tender  temples  had 
Such  maiden  heat  as  if  a  rose's  blood 
Beat  in  the  live  heart  of  a  lily- bud. 
Between  the  small  round  breasts  a  white  way  led 
Heavenward,  and  from  slight  foot  to  slender  head, 
The  whole  fair  body,  flower-like,  swayed,  and  shone 
Moving,  and  what  her  light  hand  leant  upon 
Grew  blossom-scented." 

A  magnificent  descrii^tion,  truly.  Iseult  was  betrothed  and 
married  to  Mark,  King  of  Cornwall  in  days  Arthurian;  but 
Tristram,  who  conducted  her  over  sea  to  her  husband,  stole 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS.       279 

her  affections,  and,  ultimately,  her  own  sweet  self.  Tristram 
and  Queen  Iseult  suffer,  at  the  hands  of  ^Ir.  Swinburne,  a 
different  fate  to  that  which  is  usually  assigned  them ;  but,  of 
course,  that  makes  no  manner  of  difference  in  a  poetical  narrative. 
Mr.  Swinburne,  in  this  poem,  shows  himself  as  far  below  Byron 
as  a  master  of  the  art  of  telling  a  story  as  he  is  above  that  poet 
in  his  descriptions  of  nature  and  of  man.  Possibly  a  combina- 
tion of  these  two  requisites  has  never  yet  been  exemplified  in  a 
mere  mortal.  The  rest  of  this  volume  consists  of  short  pieces, 
mostly  sonnets,  of  which  there  are  a  series  addressed  to  the  old 
dramatists.  Marlowe  ]Mr.  Swinburne  has  an  intense  admiration 
for ;  and  Kit  was  a  truly  noble  fellow.  Mr.  Swinburne's  dislike 
for  Carlyle  is  equally  marked.  He  speaks  of  the  Chelsea  sage 
as  "  the  stormy  sophist  with  his  mouth  of  thunder ;"  and,  in 
some  lines  penned  after  reading  the  "  Reminiscences  "  of  Air. 
Froude,  says  some  really  spiteful  things  of  the  same  personage. 
There  may  be  a  cause  for  all  this.  Carlyle  had  previously  spoken 
of  somebody  as  a  young  man  sitting  up  to  the  armpits  in  filth. 
Was  it  Mr.  Swinbiume  ?     We  forget. 

The  Son'ow  of  Simonay  and  Lyrical  Verses.  Readers  of 
the  Red  Dragon  are  already  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the 
graceful  verses  of  Mr.  E.  J.  Xewell  to  make  them  welcome  his 
present  volume,  of  which  the  publishers  are  Messrs.  Kegan 
Paul,  Trench,  and  Co.  Mr.  Newell  has  done  well  in  taking  the 
subject  of  his  longest  poem  from  a  source  which  seems  to  appeal 
equally  to  all  nations  and  all  ages.  It  is  more  than  five  hundred 
years  since  Boccaccio  gave  to  the  world  his  famous  Decameron. 
For  centuries  the  poet  and  the  painter  have  revelled  in  the  rich 
banquet  of  fancy  which  the  old  P^lorentine  has  set  before  them. 
Yet,  often  as  they  have  been  retold,  the  stories  of  Boccaccio 
seem  as  fresh  and  new  as  the  tale  of  Troy,  or  the  ever-green 
history  of  the  triumphs  and  sorrows  of  Arthur.  The  adventures 
of  sweet  Simona  and  her  ill-fated  lover  have  been  transcribed  by 
Mr.  Newell  with  much  grace  and  delicacy.  We  might,  perhaps, 
desire  a  little  more  compression  of  the  non-narrative  portion  of 
the  poem.  It  was  hardly  necessary  to  moralise  on  the  pheno- 
mena of  budding  affection  at  such  length  as  Mr.  Newell  has 
done,  or  to  weaken  the  flow  of  his  story  by  a  needless,  though 
short,  digression  such  as  that  on  page  12.  But  from  the  point 
when  Simona  and  Pasquino  set  forth  on  their  hapless  holiday 
the  interest  is  well  sustained.  Lagina  and  her  chiu-lish  swain 
form  an  excellent  foil  to  the  heroes  of  the  tale.  Tlie  stanzas 
which  pourtray  the  judge  before  whom  Simona  was  arraigned 
are  well  worked  out.  The  descriptive  portion  is  extremely 
pretty,  and  is  invested  with  just  that  touch  of  quaintness  which 
the  old-world  story  seems  to  require.  The  fireshness  and  glow 
of  early  summer  breathe  through  the  iK)em  ;  though  it  is  haid 
to  see  why  in  May  the  winds  should  be  strewing  a  leafy  screen 


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LITERARY  AND  ART  NOTES  OF  TEE  MONTH.  Ac 


Mr.  Merthjrr  Guest,  a  name  well  known  in  Glamorganshire 
has  presented  the  Somerset  Archaeological  Society  with  a  large 
massive  oak  table  made  for  Fielding  during  his  stay  at  East 
Stour  Manor  House  and  left  there  by  him.  On  a  brass  plate 
attached  to  it  is  the  inscription : — ^^  This  t^ble  belonged  to 
Henry  Fielding,  Esq.,  novelist.  He  hunted  from  East  Stour, 
1718,  and  in  three  years  dissipated  his  fortune  keeping 
hounds." 

Professor  Giambattista  Gintioni,  who  has  sent  Mr.  Gladstone 
a  copy  of  his  work,  "Spiegato  con  Dante"  (Dante  explained), 
lias  received  from  the  right  hon.  gentleman  a  letter,  written  in 
Italian,  of  which  the  following  is  a  translation  : — "  Illustrious 
Sir, — ^Albeit  I  have  lost  the  practice  of  the  Italian  language, 
yet  I  must  oflFer  you  many,  many  thanks  for  your  kindness  in 
sending  me  your  admirable  work,  *  Dante  Spiegato  Dante.'  You 
have  been  good  enough  to  call  that  supreme  poet '  a  solemn 
master '  for  me.  These  are  not  empty  words.  The  reading  of 
Dante  is  not  merely  a  pleasure,  a  tour  de  fm^ce^  or  a  lesson ;  it 
is  a  vigorous  discipline  for  the  heart,  the  intellect,  the  whole 
man.  In  the  school  of  Dante  I  have  learned  a  great  part  of 
that  mental  provision  (however  insignificant  it  be)  which  has 
served  me  to  make  the  journey  of  human  life  up  to  the  term 
of  nearly  73  years.  And  I  should  like  to  extend  your  excellent 
phrase,  and  to  say  he  who  labours  for  Dante  labours  to  serve 
Italy,  Christianity,  the  world." 

-Aonong  those  admitted  to  membership  at  the  last  ordinary 
meeting  of  the  Cymmrodorion  Society  were  Mr.  Alfred  Tenny- 
son (Poet  Laureate),  the  Marquess  of  Bute,  the  Earl  of  Jersey, 
Lord  Tredegar,  Sir  Walter  Morgan,  the  Rev.  F.  Jones,  M.A. 
(Oxford),  the  Eev.  J.  Hughes  Owen,  B.A.  (Brompton),  Major 
Jones  (United  States  Consul,  Newcastle-on-Tyne),  Mr.  W.  T. 
Lewis  (Mardy,  Aberdare),  and  officials  representing  the  Cardiff 
Library,  the  Swansea  Library,  Library  of  Trinity  College, 
Dublin,  the  Folk  Lore  Society,  Smithsonian  Institution, 
Washington,  U.S. A.,  the  Society  of  Arts,  and  the  Royal 
Historical  and  ArchsBological  Society  of  Ireland. 

The  Secretary  (Mr.  C.  W.  Jones)  read  letters  7r\i\c\iVv%j8L>Qfc««i 
received  from  pabliabing  firnis  in  the  Principality  vli&  to  ^e.I^:QAXSL 


282  LITERAEY  AND  ART  NOTES. 

reprints  of  old  Welsh  books.  After  considerable  discussion  it 
was  decided  to  request  Dr.  Isambard  Owen,  M.A.,  one  of  the 
editors  of  Y  Cytiwirodor^  to  reply,  stating  that  while  the 
society  was  always  })repared  to  supj)ort  every  worthy  work  in 
connection  with  Welsh  literature,  it  could  give  no  definite 
pledge,  as  the  works  it  was  intended  to  reprint  were  not  before 
the  council. 

The  next  number  of  Y  Cymmrodor  will  be  followed  ver}" 
shortly  by  the  reprint  of  "  Ystoria  Carolo  Magno." 

Of  the  Celtic  chair  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh  our 
readers  have  heard  a  good  deal.  The  latest  concerning  it  is 
that,  in  recognition  of  the  labours  of  its  founder.  Prof.  Blackie, 
the  Federation  of  Celtic  Societies  at  LiverjMDol  have  decided  to 
raise  between  fifteen  hundred  and  two  thousand  pounds  for  the 
establishment  of  bursaries  in  connection  with  the  Professorship 
bearing  the  Professor's  name. 

A  correspondent  calls  attention  to  a  curious  scrap  of  folk  lore 
occurring  in  the  Kev.  Paxton  Hood's  book  on  Chr^istrtiae  Evans, 
the  Preacher  of  Wild  \Yale8y  published  a  couple  of  years  ago. 
According  to  the  author  "  the  superstition  of  the  Sin-Eater  is 
said  to  linger  even  now  in  the  secluded  vale  of  Cwm-Aman,  in 
Carmarthenshire.  The  meaning  of  this  most  singular  supersti- 
tion was  that  when  a  person  died  the  friends  sent  for  the 
Sin-Eater  of  the  district,  who,  on  his  arrival,  placed  a  plate  of 
salt  and  bread  on  the  breast  of  the  deceased  person ;  he  then 
uttered  an  incantation  over  the  bread,  after  which  he  proceeded 
to  eat  it,  thereby  eathifj  the  sins  of  the  dead  person.  This 
done  he  received  a  fee  of  two-and -sixpence,  which  we  suppose 
was  much  more  than  many  a  preacher  received  for  a  long  and 
|)ainful  service.  Having  received  this  he  vanished  as  swiftly 
as  possible,  all  the  friends  and  relatives  of  the  departed  aiding 
his  exit  with  blows  and  kicks  and  other  indications  of  their 
faith  in  the  service  he  had  rendered.  A  hundred  years  since, 
and  through  the  ages  beyond  that  time,  we  suppose  this  curious 
superstition  was  everywhere  prevalent.'' 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  upon  what  ground  the  Rev, 
Paxton  Hood  founded  the  generalisation  contained  in  the  last 
sentence,  unless  it  be  that  he  is  neither  a  close  nor  a  profound 
reasoner.  But  what  there  ought  to  be  no  difficulty  about  is  the 
])roof  or  disproof  of  the  existence  of  the  custom  referred  to  in  the 
vale  of  Cwm-Aman  or  in  any  other  i)art  of  the  Principality. 
It  is  a  singular,  and  by  no  means  creditable  fact,  that  our 
acquaintance  with  things  happening  at  our  very  doors  should 
be  so  often  the  result  of  the  observation  of  strangers.  Contri- 
butions having  for  their  subject  any  scrap  of  curious  old  Welsh 
customs  or  folk  lore  will  be  always  welcome  to  the  editor  of  the 
National  Magazine.  Perhaps  in  this  matter  of  the  "  Sin-Eater,'* 
of  which  we  should  like  to  obt»m  otViei  «jad  more  authentic 


LITERARY  AND   ART   NOTES.  283- 

i«formation  than  the  Rev.  Paxton  Hood  can  give,  some  corres- 
pondent, like  "  Tal-a-hen,"  may  come  to  our  rescue. 

In  the  first  part  of  a  new  Dictionary  of  National  Biography^. 
the  editorship  of  which  has  been  undertaken  by  Mr.  Leslie 
Steijhen,  it  is  proposed  to  include  among  a  number  of  other 
lesser  known  names  that  of  Aaron,  a  Welsh  martyr  of  the 
Fourth  Century. 

The  February  number  of  Longman's  Magazine  contains  a 
most  interesting  article  by  Mr.  Grant  Allen,  entitled  "A  moim- 
tain  tulip."  This  flower  is  known  to  science  by  the  name  of 
Lloydia  serotina  and  is  only  found  in  Northern  and  Arctic 
Europe,  in  the  Alps  and  the  Caucasus,  and  in  Britain  on  one  or 
two  of  the  higher  mountains  of  North  Wales.  Mr.  Grant 
Allen's  article  deals  with  specimens  which  he  found  growing 
upon  a  Snowdonian  mountain,  which  he  christens  "  Mynydd 
Alawr,"  and  he  traces  their  history  back  to  the  close  of  the 
glacial  period. 

Writing  from  Scarborough,  Yorkshire,  a  correspondent  says : 
Re  Bowens,  Kittle  Hill,  Swansea :  Cantio  et  Futuro :-  — 

*'  Can  you,  through  the  medium  of  your  magazine,  furnish 
details  of  above  family  ?  I  should  be  glatd  if  in  a  future  number 
you  would  admit  of  an  exhaustive  account  of  this  family, 
together  with  local  incidents  and  historical  gleanings  of  Wales, 
as  I  have  not  yet  had  the  pleasure  of  visiting  it.  I  should  look 
ujion  an  authentic  account  as  something  worthy  of  keeping. 
The  subject  of  treatment  would  embrace  : — 

"  1st.  First  origination  of  said  family;  date  and  position;  if 
outlawed,  or  otherwise.  2nd.  Kittle  Hill ;  description  of  title  ; 
how  so  named  ;  reasons  for  it ;  if  an  estate  bestowed  on  family 
for  services  as  a  military  reward,  or  otherwise.  3rd.  Devil's 
Hole  (Bowen's  Parlour),  on  the  raised  beach  of  Newslade  Bay, 
near  Paviland,  and  at  Bacon  Hole ;  why  is  above  so  described  ; 
is  it  near  to  Kittle  Hill;  what  is  the  distance  therefrom?  4th. 
How  did  motto  obtain  origin  ?  Together  with  best  source  of 
obtaining  a  succinct  account  of  the  first  founding  of  the  family^ 
and  history  of  such  from  the  earliest  to  the  present  time. 

"Having  thus  ended  my  queries,  I  shall  feel  obliged  if  you  will 
reply  at  the  earliest,  or  send  such  magazine  as  you  may  think 
bears  ui)on  the  issue,  or  refer  me  to  some  reliable  source  from 
whence  I  might  gain  the  knowledge  herein  expressed." 

We  question  whether  an  exhaustive  account  of  this  family 
would  be  of  sufficient  interest  to  our  readers  in  a  body.  A  terse, 
pithy  account,  however,  would  be,  and  we  invite  answers  on  the 
subject.  If  our  correspondent  would  like  to  have  the  informa- 
tion from  a  private  source,  we  know  of  no  better  authority  than 
the  Rev.  John  Davies,  M.A.,  Llanmadock,  Swansea. 

The  "Altar-piece  of  Llandaff  Cathedral,**  i\i  t\\ei  ^yqJl^t 
Exhibition  of  the  Royal  Academy,  has  been  deseiVbedi  \5ca  oTkfc  ^"t 


^^•r  iJi:-r:LkTi.  ;r.  1>6'>,  hut 
■-3J1  LZT  z  '.'--^  rest  in  th?^ 
-  :■  r. -_--  T  .:'  \-  ol :  ma^tr. 
ir  _:  :  ■..r  :r:^r*:alitv  and 
:-  V  .    1  It-:.--  :L-  "Adora- 

*.:  «"  '  •.*  :^  le<"i  awful, 
,;-•■.-  '.-  _-  :^  'Lr  r^ir-  "f  the 
:r     .-•:.  r..r-r-:ier:oaI!v,  tliat 

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:_■-.  .:.  :-:  .n  :  blue  either 
-i^--  -     :.  r    rr:^-:.     ••  One  of 

:.■■  :-*  ::.:-  rr::i irk;ible 
:t.-  .  ■  -:.:.j  ::  :r  •::i  ^eliinJ. 
-"—  "-■  -  *T-r:  ■:    irit-iKiiioe 

-  .'•   ":—-::  :  rr>rr.:r«i  to  the 

?hall  jfubli^h  a 


M.  h-i-..:;.     W..  ^^ 


■»  - 


:>...:-.  Mr.  ^V:■L:..:n  KaiLl^'iie.  has 
-  ^*     :  .:..ry  upc'ii  ••  i^>oal 


...  1 


T.  ^:  --:-•'     •          -- .:—   :  -    :     ■     M:.r:-.i-^f>    of   Bute    will 

f.  :,':.'  r.r  .:.  '.r.:  .-.■  '.  '...:  :  :":..   :  -:::^  :.;:..■  -r  o!  the  :>C'j^(tsh 

Mr.  V/:.--r  L.  y :.  -  .  •  .  :.  i  y.   ;  r!-:  r   ■:'  :'::e  Gu'iti  tjanrr 

In  t":.-    ilV-'r,\i    ,1A  •      <:  *    -    -:.  •    ■■:'  KvVr:;ary  aj»pearetl  a 


.  t-t  ■ 


V    iri^'-r-^-'iii^    .:       .::.:    •  r'    *    -     L:':":rv    .f    Lord    Bute    at 


ail  JiHju'Jiiator  at  nf^arly  all  tlu*  fi^t»-l'lf«>lau  lu-lil  in  the 
['riii'-ijiaJitv.  He  wa-*  also  a  t"av«»urito  ooudui-tor  at  other 
rljoial  (fatlir-riij({.'^.  His  iiiusit-al  cniii]).»>itioiis  wi^re  received 
with  irn-iii  fjivoiir  ill  Walerf.  An  «»rati»rio,  rntitlfil  "Jeremiah," 
ofvvliicli  lio  was  iFw  author,  elicited  wrv  favoursible  comments 
in  Wel.nli  musical  circles,  and  a  second  edition  of  the  work  has 
luM-n  |iii[)lislicrl.  'i'lie  d<M'casod  had  latterly  conducted  the 
iiiimir;d  Kervic(f.s  at  the  Welsh  Church  at  Chester.  As  a 
muMiral  iiist mentor  In*  was  very  successful,  some  of  his  pupils 
hjivin^  attjiined  ]irominent  positions  as  singers  or  instrumental 
iiiiiHicijiiH.     iMjiilame  Kditii  Wynne  was  one  of  his  pupils.  The 


LITERARY   AND   ART   NOTES.  285 

title  of  "Owain  A  law  "  was  conferred  on  the  deceased  some 
21  years  ago  by  an  assembly  of  the  Welsh  bards,  the  word  Alavj 
meaning  "  chief  singer." 

Wc  have  to  announce  the  death  of  M.  Gustave  Dor^,  which 
took  place  at  his  Paris  residence  on  the  23rd  of  January.  In 
18o6  the  English  public  was  introduced  to  a  version  of  the  old 
French  romance  of  "Jaufrythe  Knight  and  the  Fair  Krunis- 
sende  :  a  Tale  of  the  Time£  of  King  Arthur,"  to  which  Dore  liad 
contributed  twenty  pictures  as  full  of  the  glamour  of  romance 
as  the  text  of  his  original ;  and  the  folio  publication  of  "Th(; 
Wandt'ring  Jew,"  brought  out  the  following  year,  was  still  more 
imaginative,  weird-like,  and  startling.  But  the  full  height  of  his 
fome  as  an  illustrator  was  not  reached  till  the  publiwition  of  his 
illustrations  to  Dante's  "  Inferno,"  which  appeared  in  Paris  in  186 1 , 
and  were  re-issued  in  this  country  by  Messrs.  Cassell,  Petter,  and 
Galpin,  in  1866.  French  and  English  art  lovers  became  familiar 
with  the  "Purgatorio"  and  ''Paradiso,"  issued  by  the  same 
publishers  in  1868.  "The  number  of  Dante  designs,"  says 
Air.  Oilier,  "  is  over  136 — an  astonishing  number,  considering 
their  excellence,  their  variety,  the  extraordinary  height  and 
range  of  their  conceptions,  and  the  pictorial  elaboration  of  their 
handling."  But,  strange  to  say — and  the  fact  has  never  been 
noticed  by  any  of  his  biographers — the  "  Inferno,"  the  first  of 
this  truly  magnificent  and  original  series,  was  declined  by  one 
of  the  most  eminent  firms  in  Paris.  Dore,  like  all  great  men, 
had  a  belief  in  himself.  The  book  was  published,  took  the  world 
by  storm,  and  the  edition  was  exhausted  in  a  few  days.  On  the 
15th  of  August,  1861,  Gustave  Dore  was  made  a  Chevalier  of 
the  legion  of  Honour ;  and  two  years  afterwards,  in  1863,  he 
produced  his  "  Don  Quixote."  Its  370  drawings  so  enhanced 
the  text  of  Cervantes  that,  in  referring  to  this  edition,  the  glory 
of  the  great  Spaniard  is  merged  in  that  of  the  Frenchman,  and 
we  invariably  say,  "Dore's  Don  Quixote."  At  the  request  of 
Messrs.  Hachette  and  Co.,  the  publishers  of  the  works  just 
enumerated,  he  produced  foity-four  works  for  Chateaubriand's 
**  Atala,"  forty-eight  large  compositions  and  250  heads  of  pages 
for  the  Fables  of  La  Fontaine,  300  engravings  illustrating  S^jain, 
150  doing  a  like  service  for  Ijondon,  forty  designs  for  Coleridge's 
"  Ancient  Mariner,"  and  thirty-six  for  Tennyson's  "  Idylls  of  the 
King."  And  yet  these  by  no  means  represent  all  that  Dore  has 
done.  In  1866  appeared  the  Holy  Bible,  with  nearly  250 
illustrations,  which  has  been  fitly  described  as  **  the  culminating 
and  vastest  work  of  the  artist's  life  as  a  work  of  illustration." 
The  production  of  these  engravings  occupied  M.  Dore  no  less  a 
period  than  four  years,  and  the  cost  of  the  drawing  and  engraving 
alone  amounted  to  more  than  £'15,000.  In  the  same  year  was 
completed  the  edition  of  Milton,  executed  expressly  for  Messrs. 
Cassell,  Petter,  and  Galpin.    Various  other  works  have  also  been 


286  LITEKARY  AND  ART  NOTES. 

j»rodiiced  since,  illustrating  writings  of  standard  authors,  both 
English  and  Frencli.  He  did  not  know  himself  how  many 
designs  he  had  made  in  his  lifetime.  Several  years  ago  a 
collector  in  Paris,  who  was  eagerly  seizing  all  he  could  get  of  his 
]»ublished  sketches,  had  then  ascertained  that  there  were  over 
20,000  in  existence. 

On  the  same  dav  died  Frederick  Flotow,  the  famous 
com^wser,  in  Darmstadt.  Flotow,  who  was  bom  at  Tenterdorf, 
in  ilecklenbiu-g-Schwerin,  April  27,  1812,  was  intended  for  the 
]>rofession  of  diplomacy.  His  fondness  for  music  induced  him 
to  go  to  Paris,  where  he  placed  himself  under  the  composer 
Reicha.  The  revolution  of  1830  recalled  him  to  Germany, 
whence  he  retumtnl  a  few  years  later  with  several  operas 
composed  by  him  during  the  interval.  None  of  these,  however, 
fi>und  favour  with  the  Parisian  managers,  and  it  was  only  the 
impression  they  pnHiuced  by  their  representation  in  private, 
before  amateurs,  that  obtained  for  him  the  commission,  in  1838, 
to  furnish  the  music  to  *•  Le  Naufrage  de  la  Meduse."  This  at 
onct»  established  his  position,  the  opem  being  successful.  Since 
that  time  he  has  comiH>seil  several,  of  which  the  "Forester,'' 
produced  in  1840 ;  '*  L'Esclave  de  Camoens,"  in  1843 ;  and 
**  L*Ame  en  Peine,''  in  1^46,  hold  possession  of  the  French 
stage;  while  '*  StnidelhC  in  1844;  "Martha,"  in  18.38;  and 
"/ilda,'*in  18()(),  established  his  reputation  in  Grermanv  as  a 
composer  of  light  operas,  "  Indra,"  "Rubezahl,"  and  "  Marie- 
Katerina,"  are  favourites  in  (ierniany.  After  residing  in  Paris 
and  in  his  native  town,  M.  Flotow  settled,  in  18,3o,  at  Schwerin, 
where  he  became  director  of  the  Court  Theatre.  He  was 
elected  a  corresponding  member  of  the  French  Institute  in 
18(54.  His  latest  com]H)sition  is  "  Fiore  di  Harlem,"  an  Italian 
opera,  at  the  rehearsjds  of  which  he  himself  presided  at  Turin, 
in  November,  187().  There  are  very  few  Welshmen  with  any 
taste  for  music  to  whom  the  great  man's  "  Martha "  is  not 
familiar. 

The  Aberystwith  Board  of  (uianlians  have  adopted  a  memorial 
for  the  retention  of  the  University  College  at  Aberystwith,  the 
same  to  be  forwarded  to  the  President  and  Vice-President  of 
the  Education  Department.  A  sum  of  L';3,000  or  £6,000  is 
rec^uired  to  complete  the  present  college  buildings,  and  it  has 
been  decided  that  the  guardians  shall  ciinvass  for  subscriptions 
in  each  of  the  parishes  they  represent.  Mr.  H.  C.  Fryer, 
the  chairman  of  the  board,  has  promised  £20 ;  Mr.  Morris 
Davies,  £20;  Mr.  B.  PL  Morgan,  £10;  Mr.  Hugh  Hughes,  sen., 
£5;  Mr.  John  Morgan,  (iwarallt,  £o ;  Mr.  James  Jones, 
Tyllwyd,  £1  ;  and  Mr.  John  Davies,  £1. 


DRAGON  IGEN^. 


A  man  of  tact  always  manages  to  get  out  of  a  difficulty.  The 
clerk  of  a  parish,  whose  business  was  to  read  the  "  first  lesson," 
came  across  the  chapter  in  Daniel  in  which  the  names  Shadrach, 
Meshach,  and  Abed-nego  occur  a  gbod  many  times,  and,  findinfi^ 
it  extremely  difficult  to  pronounce  these  names,  he  went  through 
the  chapter  referring  to  them  as  "  the  aforesaid  gentlemen." 


*  • 
* 


In  a  pamphlet,  issued  by  Bass  and  Co.,  it  is  stated  that  they 
pay  £780  per  day  in  the  shape  of  tax  to  the  revenue. 


*  « 


The  proportion  of  nutriment  in  every  1,000  parts  of  food  is  thus 
classified: — Wheat,  950;  peas,  (oz.)  930;  barley,  920;  beans, 
(oz.)  890;  rice,  880;  bread,  800;  rye,  792  ;  oats,  742  ;  mutton, 
290;  chicken,  270;  beef,  260;  veal,  250;  pork,  240;  fish,  about 
200;  fruit,  from  120  to  290;  potatoes,  120;  carrots,  98; 
cabbage,  73  ;  turnips,  42;  melons,  30;  cucumbers,  23, 


*  « 


In  giving  an  account  of  an  inquest,  the  printer  chose  to 
state  "  the  deceased  bore  an  accidental  character,  and  died  an 
excellent  death." 


«  • 
• 


The  Colonies  and  India  reports  an  extraordinary  fatality 
from  Guiana,  where  an  inexperienced  traveller  having,  as  i» 
the  custom,  taken  a  refreshing  draught  from  the  stem  of  one 
of  the  many  water-holding-plants  which  thrive  in  the  forests, 
qualified  his  cold  refreshment  by  a  "nip"  of  rum.  Shortly 
afterwards  he  died  in  excruciating  agony,  and  a  post  mortenh 
examination  showed  that  his  internal  organs  were  literally 
sealed  up  with  indiarubber.  He  had  imbibed  the  sap  of  the 
mimusops  valata,  the  juice  of  which  coagulates  and  hardens 
in  alcohol,  and  the  rum  had  had  its  usual  effect  in  the  poor 
man's  stomach,  with  necessarily  fatal  results. 


288  DKACONIGEN.E. 

When  an  editor  makes  a  mistake  in  his  paper  all  the  world 
sees  it,  and  calls  liim  a  liar.  When  a  private  citizen  makes  a 
mistake  nobody  knows  it,  except  a  few  friends,  and  they  come 
around  and  ask  the  editor  to  keep  it  out  of  the  i>aper.  WTien 
the  private  citizen  dies,  the  editor  is  asked  to  write  of  all  his 
good  qualities  and  leave  out  the  bad.  W^Ben  the  editor  dies, 
the  private  citizen  says,  "Now  that  old  liar  will  get  his 
deserts/' 

The  following  toast  was  given  at  a  dinner  in  the  nutmeg- 
producing  State  of  Connecticut : — "  The  Nutmeg  State — where 
shall  we  find  a  Grater  ?" 


«  # 


The  character  of  th«»  mind  has,  during  all  ages,  been 
supposed  to  be  considerably  under  the  influence  of  diet 
Hippocrates,  in  his  "Treatises  on  Diet,"  endeavoiu^  to  prove 
that  all  men  are  bom  with  the  same  mental  capacity,  and  tliat 
the  difference  which  in  after-life  is  discoverable  in  the  minds  of 
the  human  race  is  altogether  to  be  attributed  to  the  food  they 
have  eaten.  A  diet  purely  animal  is  said  to  give  vigour  and 
energy  to  the  mind,  as  well  as  strength  to  the  body.  Fuseli, 
the  painter,  was  in  tlu;  habit  of  eating  raw  meat,  for  the  purj)Oj?e 
of  engendering  in  his  imagination  horrible  fancies  ;  and  it  is 
relat(?cl  of  Mrs.  Badcliff  that  when  she  was  writing  The  MystmtB 
of  Udolpho  she  ate  uncooked  meat  for  the  same  object.  Whether 
the  desired  effect  was  produced  we  cannot  say.  The  ancients 
liad  some  absurd  notions  on  the  sulrject.  With  a  view  of  making 
Achilles  a  hero,  he  was  fed  on  tlio  marrow  of  lions.  There  can  be 
no  doubt  but  that  abstinence  from  animal  food  would,  to  a  certain 
<»xtent,  impair  the  energy  of  tlie  mind  by  weakening  the  body 
generally.  Those  who  have  to  undergo  much  bodily  and  mental 
fat  igue  require  a  substantial  and  generous  diet.  Much,  how- 
ever, will  depend  ujion  constitutionjil  peculiarities. 


*  * 


As  an  instance  of  the  "native  industry"  of  the  Celt,  it  is 
stated  that  it  takes  five  Higlilandmen  to  post  a  letter.  The 
first  buys  a  stamp,  the  second  pays  for  it,  the  third  affixes  it, 
the  fourth  puts  the  letter  into  the  letter  box,  and  the  fifth 
looks  down  the  aperture  after  it. 


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NOTABLE   MEN   OE    WALES. 


RICHARD  MASON  AND  THK  LITERATURE   OF 

II  IS  TIME. 

"  What  you  have  done  for  Welwli  Literature,  Mr.  Ma  ton,  will  form 
part  of  the  future  history  of  Wales." — Bishop  Tiiirlwall. 


Richard  Mason,  of  Tenby,  a  name  inseparably  associated  with 
some  of  the  most  important  archaeological  publications  connected 
with  Wales,  was  born  in  Herefordshire,  part  of  old  Siluria,  and 
from  his  sympathies  we  may  almost  assume  that  he  was  of 
Cambrian  origin.  P^or  generations  his  forefathers  had  tilled  the 
family  acres,  and,  but  for  a  simjjle  incident^  he  might  have 
pursued  the  same  course.  But  when  he  was  in  his  twenty-ninth 
year  a  difference  arose  between  him  and  his  father,  in  respect  of 
the  drainage  and  improvement  of  the  farm,  and  he  left  home  for 
Tenby.  It  does  not  appear  that  his  visit  was  for  any  other 
object  than  a  change  of  air  and  scene,  but  he  was  so  delighted 
with  the  place,  and  became  so  invigorated  in  health  by  his  stay, 
that  he  began  to  look  about  him  for  an  occupation  in  life.  His 
strong  bias  for  intellectual  pursuits  suggested  literature.  It  was 
one  of  the  great  turning  points  of  his  career,  and  a  fortunati^ 
conjunction  of  circumstances  aided  him.  The  business  of  a  book- 
seller and  publisher,  formed  by  a  Mr.  Hough,  was  then  for  sale. 
Mason  bought  it,  and,  though  this  step  alienated  him  from  his 
family,  who  regarded  trade  as  immeasurably  inferior  to  the 
cultivation  of  the  soil,  his  own  instincts  told  him  that  he  had 
fallen  into  the  right  groove,  and  thenceforward  Wales  was  his 
home  and  her  literature  his. 

Early  in  his  publishing  career  he  became  associated  with  the 
Rev.  Basil  Jones — the  present  Bishop  of  St.  David's — ani  with 
our  eminent  historian,  Mr.  Freeman,  jointly  with  whom  he 
published  the  *'  History  and  Antiquities  of  St.  David's,"  one  of 
the  ablest  productions  we  have,  and  the  one,  unquestionably,  by 
which  the  Bishop  of  St.  David's  won  his  repute  as  an 
archseologist«    A  greater  work  than  this,  as  regards  the  variety 

T 


200  NOTAHLK  ilEX  OF  WALES. 

of  research  exLil)ited,  and  the  distinguished  men  with  whom  he 
was  brought  in  contact  by  its  publication,  was  the  necond  series 
of  the  Arclut'olo(/!a  Camhi'ensis,  The  six  volumes  of  this  work, 
extending  over  as  many  years,  which  he  published  for  the 
(-ambrian  Archteological  Association,  will  bear  favourable  com- 
[)arisonwith  those  which  preceded  and  followed  them.  The 
Association  at,  that  time  numbered  among  its  members  the 
ablest  writers  of  Wales  and  most  learned  antiquaries  of  England. 
Some  are  still  amongst  us — many  are  gone  to  the  etvigheit. 
I^et  us  run  over  the  livst :  Thirlwall,  the  Dean  of  Llandaff, 
Thomas  Stephens,  Ab  Ithel,  Tegid,  Jelinger  Symons,  Babington, 
Freeman,  (i.  T.  Clark,  Longueville  Jones,  Hartshcme, 
iSIurchison,  Viscount  Dungannon,  W.  W.  E.  Wynne,  Westwood, 
Osborne  ^lorgan,  Aloggridge,  Wynne  Ffoulkes,  and  Traheme. 
By  these  and  many  more  equally  well-known  in  their  day  a 
series  of  articles  rich  in  information  upon  the  ecclesiastical, 
military,  and  domestic  architecture  of  the  Middle  Ages  was 
given  and  invaluable  pai)ers  on  megalithic  monuments, 
inscribed  stones,  on  heraldry,  family  history,  philology,  and  on 
the  primeval  l^ritish,  lioman,  and  Mediteval  antiquities.  No 
one  can  take  u])  the  series  of  twenty  years  ago  and  give  even  a 
cursory  glance  without  admitting  the  great  service  rendered  by 
Mr.  Mason  to  Wales. 

For  eleven  years  he  was  connected  with  the  Cambrian 
Institute,  which  issued  a  (juarterly  magazine,  of  which  he  was 
the  publisher,  a  work  now  completed  in  eleven  volumes,  and  a 
perfect  storehouse  of  fact  and  opinions  concerning  ancient  an«l 
Mediaeval  Wales.  P^or  some  years  it  was  edited  by  Ab  Ithel, 
and  chiefly  owing  to  his  scholarly  ca])acity  and,  it  must  be 
admitted,  the  fertility  of  his  imagination  and  the  strength  of 
hisbelit^f,  the  Jonrnnl  forms  a  A'alhalla  in  which  the  old  heroes 
of  liritain  are  preserved,  from  Brutus  downward,  gaunt  and 
grisly  shades  of  the  Homeric  type,  enacting  their  wondrous 
(leeds  over  again.  As  we  cast  a  retrospective  survey  over  the 
time  in  which  Mr.  Mason  flourished  and  recall  his  associates  the 
panorama  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  unrolls  itself.  Let  us,  wand  in 
hand,  point  out  a  few  of  the  actors,  and  dwell  a  little  while  ujwn 
the  stirring  events  of  the  time.  Here  is  Ab  Ithel,  plain  John 
Williams,  the  humble  rector  of  Llanymawddy,  a  man  brimful  of 
literary  wisdom,  yet  lacking  the  shrewd  ability  to  win  prefer- 
ment in  life,  and  so  drudging  on,  truest  of  pat  riots,  most  earnest 
of  clergymen,  with  the  fire  of  a  Kelt  and  the  stubbornness  of  a 
Saxon.  Here  he  is,  lavish  in  scholarshi[)  over  fables  and 
indefatigable  in  bringing  all  possible  proof  for  the  elucidation  of 
the  traditionary  annals  of  the  Kymru.  Great  is  Ab  Ithel  in 
early  Bardism,  fervent  is  he  in  his  belief  in  Prydain  ab  Aedd 
Mawr,  and  fond  as  ever  was  old  lolo  of  the  Aloelmutian  Triads. 
Unlike  our  friend  Myfyr,  who  has  been  described  as  almost  the 


KICHAKl)  MASON.  291 

last,  if  not  the  last,  "living  exponent  of  the  Pan-Druidic 
philosophy,"  Ab  Ithel  strove  to  link  "  the  old  eultus  to  the 
Christian  faith,"  and  preached  to  the  end  of  his  chapter 
the  connection  between  the  "principles  of  the  bards 
nnd  the  virtues  and  humanities  of  all  time."  Yet 
not  always  on  debatablt*  ground  fought  Ab  Ithel. 
From  his  editorial  care  and  under  (fovemment  direction  was 
issued  B7*ut  y  Twysogion  or  "  The  Chronicle  of  the  Princes," 
:ind  the  Annalea  Janibri(r ;  and  to  him  we  are  indebted  for  that 
interesting  work  of  the  Myddfai  physicians,  which  gave  so 
curious  an  insight  into  the  simple  habits  and  philosophic 
remedials  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Not  always  unscathed  in  his 
editorial  chair  sat  Ab  Ithel ;  one  of  the  most  moving  incidents 
in  his  eventful  career  was  the  tremendous  attack  made  upon  him 
by  the  Saturday  Revieiv^  in  its  most  able  and  caustic  period. 
fie  passes  by. 

Then  Thomas   Stephens   comes   upon   the   scene,   and   the 
literary  world  of  Wales  is  startled  to  hear  one  fine  morning,  at 
the  Abergavenny  Eisteddfod,  that  prizes  amounting  to  over  a 
hundred  guineas  have  been  won  by  an  unknown  man,  and  that 
some   of  the   most   cherished  traditions  of  Wales  have  been 
scattered  to  the  winds.     What  a  host  of  ghostly  forms  follow  in 
the  track  of  Stei)hens.     Ab  Ithel  is  the  only  one  who  comes  to 
the  front  and  enters  his  protest.     That  is  all.     The  army  of 
opponents  under  the  mask  of  bardic  names  assail  him  personally, 
and  fierce  is  the  warfare  in  the  pages  of  the  Cambrian  JoumaL 
It  was  enough  to  have  roused  old  lolo  from  his  grave  to  see  the 
tilt  made  against  Prydain,  and  early  bardism,  and  Merddin  and 
Taliesin,  to  say  nothing  of  poor  legendary  Oeoffrey  and  the 
lictions  of  Troy.     Ab  Ithel,  about  this  time,  reproduced  some  of 
lolo's  ablest  works,  and  we  seem  to  hear  the  echoing  of  the  old 
thunder  "  in  the  corridors  of  time,"  as  page  after  page  of  nervous 
and  patriotic  writing  comes  before   us  in  the  history  of  the 
British  bards,  the  Moelmutian  Triads,  and  cherished  triads  and 
chwedlau.     The  sweep  of  a  dress  is  heard,  and  Lady  Marshall, 
one  of  that  gifted  sisterhood  of  whom  Mrs.  Hemans  was  chief, 
comes  before  us  with  her  lays  of  Llewelyn,  and  other  facile 
translations,  and  many  a  successful  eisteddfod  keeps  alive  the 
national  spirit,  now  at  Llanelly,  again  at  Llangollen,  in  the 
South  at  Abergavenny,  and  in  the  North  once  more  at  Conway. 
One  can   see  the   crowds  of  Llandudno  pleasure  and  health 
seekers,  Liverpool  merchants,  Manchester  warehousemen,  tinged 
with  the  hue  of  their  ledgers,  delighted  with  the  novelty  of  the 
literary    gatherings,  and    mastering    the    pronunciation    and 
meaning  of  all  the  old  bardic  mottoes,  from  the  "Eye  of  Light " 
to  **  God  and  Enough."    Now  we  have  Wriglit,  great  on  Roman 
remains,  and  the  learned  Nash  on  the  history  of  the  battle  of 
Gattraeth  and  the  Gododin  of  Aneurin ;  and  Ab  Ithel,  too,  on 

T  2 


292  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

the  same  questions  and  the  discovery  of  America  by  Madoc- 

This  last  theme  rouses  as  much  discussion  in  the  literary  world 
as  ever  did  the  Sixth  Century  bardism ;  and  Stephens  and  Ab 
Ithel  are  in  conspicuous  opposition  thereon.     Then  we  have 
discussions  on  the  probable  visit  of  St.  Paul  to  Britain ;  the 
Triads  of  St.  Paul  are  discoursed  upon,  and  another  great  topic 
of  the  day  formed  thereby  :  some  contending  for  a  Christianity 
in  Britain  prior  to  that  of  St.  Augustine,  and  an  early  Christian 
Church  amongst  what  the  world  deemed  the  Western  barbarians. 
Now  Archdeacon  Williams  with  his  theories  of  a  non-Semitic 
language,  lolo  with  his  Cyfrinach  y  Beirdd ;  Miss  Williams,  of 
Ysgafelte,  and  Carl  ileyer,  Lady  Charlotte  and  her  version  of 
the   Mahinogion:   so   passes   the   fleeting  panorama.      Topics 
as  diverse  as  the  Sweta  Divipa^  the  Ynys  Wen  of  the  Hindoos 
(as  some  imagine),  and  the  vindication  of  the  Mosaic  Ethnology 
of  Euroi)e  gleam  here  and  there,  showing  us  the  varied  themes 
up<m  which  reasoned  and  argued  the  cultured  men  and  women 
/vvho  are  gone.     Such  were  the  personal  and  mental  associations 
of  Mr.  Alason,  and  it   is  pleasant  to  note  that  amidst  heated 
controversies  only  second  to  those  of  Davydd  ap  Gwilyin  and 
Kliys   Meigan,   discussion,    keen   and  [irolonged,  led   by  bard 
against  bard,  ecclesiastic   against  ecclesiastic,  scholar  against 
scholar,   he   remained   unafi'ected,  the  genial  friend  who  was 
always  ready  to  aid  student  and  veteran  in  making  his  mission 
known  to  the  world. 

Let  us  glance  at  the  principal  \iorks  relative  to  Wales 
published  by  him.  Among  them  we  find  the  History  and 
Antiquities  of  St.  David's — by  the  Bishop  of  St.  David's  and 
Dr.  Freeman;  second  series  Arch,  CamhrensiSj  six  volumes; 
Cambrian  Journal^  two  volumes ;  History  of  Radnorshire— 
by  the  Rev.  Jonathan  Williams  ;  the  Traditionary  Annals  of 
the  Kymry — by  Ab  Ithel ;  Druidism — by  Ab  Ithel ;  Life  of  Ab 
Ithel— hy  Kenward;  Vestiges  of  the  Gael  in  G^vynedd — by  the 
Bishop  of  St.  David's  ;  Architecture  of  Llandaff  Cathedral—  by 
Dr.  PVeeman  ;  Antiquities  of  Goiver — by  Dr.  Freeman  ;  Etchings 
of  the  Architectural  Antiquities  of  Tenhy — by  Norris ;  MUford, 
jPast^  Present  and  Future — by  .lelinger  Symons  ;  the  Eulogy 
of  Tenby — by  T.  Stephens;  Gidde  to  I'enby— edited  by  K. 
Mason. 

One  would  have  thought  that  the  labour  and  anxiety  of 
bringing  out  these  important  productions,  the  incessant 
consultations  with  his  learned  friends,  and  the  conduct  of  the 
Tenby  Obsei'ver^  established  and  edited  by  him,  would  have 
alienated  him  from  his  neighbours,  and  from  social  duties. 
But  this  was  not  so.  As  a  member  of  the  Corporation  and  an 
Alderman,  he  took  an  active  part  in  all  that  affected  the  interests 
of  the   people,  and  the  advancement  of  the  town  of  Tenby* 


RICHARD  MASON.  293 

To  him  was  due  in  a  great  measure,  amongst  other  patriotic 
works,  the  erection  of  the  Albert  Memorial.  On  this  eventful 
occasion  the  late  Lord  Llanover  took  a  most  active  part, 
and  the  old  harper  of  Lady  Llanover  was  present  to 
give  Sclat  to  the  proceedings.  For  his  ser\'ices  Mr.  Mason 
received  the  thanks  of  Her  Majesty.  This  successfid  movement 
was  one  of  the  conspicuous  incidents  of  a  life  that  may  be 
regarded  as  one  of  the  happiest,  one  that  a  great  apostle  craved, 
one  that  Virgil  desired :  neither  marked  by  the  bitterness  of 
sorrow,  nor  o'erwhelmed  with  an  excess  of  fortune : 

Tlie  placid  brcH>k  meandering  in  the  Khade, 

And  nut  the  mountain  stream  by  rocks  tumultuous  made. 

We  must  not  omit   his   domestic   relations,  but  just  for  a 
moment  lift  the  curtain  which  shrouded  his  private  life.     He 
married,  in  1845,  Elizabeth,  second  daughter  of  John  Davenport, 
Esq.,  of  tlie  Leysters,    Herefordshire,  and  six  sons  and  four 
daughters  were  born  to  them.     He  was  an  excellent  husband 
and  father.     One  of  the  great  ambitions  of  his  life  was  the 
advancement  of  his  children.     With   unswerving   purpose   he 
strove  to  give  them  as  thorough  an  education  as  possible.     To 
this    object    he    sacrificed     himself,    and    all    his    resoiurces. 
His  eldest  son  Richard  was  destined  for  the  medical  profession, 
and,  successful  in  obtaining  a  surgeon's  dij)loma,  is  now  practising 
in  Ramsgate.     Two  other  sons  were  induced  by  their  father  to 
aspire  to  appointments  in  Her  Majesty's  Civil  Ser\'ice,  and,  being 
successful  in  competitive  examinations,  AL".  Mason's  second  son 
John  occui)ies  the  post  of  Police  Magistrate  and  Justice  of  the 
Peace  at  Point  de  Galle,  Ceylon.  The  third  son  Arthur  Henry  is 
the   Professor   of  Engiceering  at  Seebpore  College,  Calcutta. 
Frank,  the  fourth  son,  is  publisher  and  editor,  as  his  father  was 
before  him.     Stephen  Basil,  well  remembered  for  his  genial 
qualities,  died  in  1878,  at  the  age  of  25,  widely  lamented ;  and  it 
is  only  when  penning  this  tribute  to  the  departed  author  and 
publisher  that  the  sad  news  has  gone  from  India  of  the  death  of 
Edith,  the  third  daughter  of  Mr.  Mason,  and  wife  of  P.  Booth, 
Esq.,  H.E.I.C.S.     Mr.  Mason  was  a  Conservative  in  politics,  and  a 
Churchman   of  the   old   school,  with   a    great   abhorrence   of 
Ritualistic  performances.     He  believed  more  in  the  exercise  of 
simple   faith   than   in  millinery  and  genuflexions.     When  he 
died,  December  26th,  1881,  there  was  not  one  of  the  old  literary 
friends  whom  time  had  spared  who  did  not  mourn  the  loss  of  a 
just,  worthy,  and  genial  man.     Although  thoroughly  attached 
to  antiquarian  pursuits,  and  possessed  of  an  intellect  of  more  than 
ordinary  vigour,  he    had  not,  it  is  true,  achieved    marked 
distinction  in  any  one  groove.    No  one  would  compare  him 
with  Freeman  in   historic  knowledge,  with  Skene,  or  Nash, 


294  NOTABLE   MEN  OF  WALES. 

or  Rhys  in  philology,  with  Clai*k  on  castle  architecture^ 
with  West  wood  on  monuments,  with  Stephens  in  critical 
knowledge ;  but  then,  all  looked  up  to  him  as  the  captain  of 
the  vessel,  who  had  borne  them  against  adverse  winds  of 
criticism,  over  the  stormiest  of  all  seas,  into  the  pleasantest  of 
all  harbours : — 

Where  life'n  voyage  Ik  \vell  cnded« 
Aud  a  gixxi  repute  is  w<»n  ; 
And  on  battered  helm  and  pennon, 
Fall  the  ruvs  of  setting  >«uii. 

The  Editor. 


OF    HIGH     DEGREE. 


By  Charles  Gibbon,  Author  of  "KobinGray,"  "A  Heart's 
Problem,"  "In  Honour  Bound,"  "Queen  of  the  Meadow,*' 

'•Th>:  Braes  of  Yarrow,"  &c.,  &c. 


**  It  is  the  fortune  of  war;  and,  as  you  say,  in  these  matters 
the  best  friends  sometimes  cross  each  other.  But  you  have  not 
obtained  Iier  consent  yet." 

He  said  that  with  a  faint  smile,  in  wliich  hope  struggled 
against  the  impression  made  upon  him  by  this  man's  air  of 
complete  confidence. 

When  Rapier  left  him,  Mr.  Dottridge  summoned  Brassey  ani 
hastily  wrote  a  note. 

"  I  want  you  to  take  this  yourself,  Brassey,  to  Mrs.  Meredith, 
senior.  You  are  to  stay  with  her  as  long  as  she  may  require 
you,  and  you  are  to  take  car^  that  young  Mrs.  Meredith  does  not 
leave  the  house  until  h«T  husband  returns." 

"Yes,  sir;  but  young  Mrs.  Meredith  has  not  gone  home. 
She  has  gone  to  the  station,  and  I  heard  her  toll  Smalley  to  go 
<|uick  to  catch  a  train." 

Mr.  Dottridge  siit  for  a  moment  in  uneasy  reflection. 

"  That  is  strange.  She  is  not  well,  and  1  am  anxious  about 
lier." 

"  She  did  seem  queer,  sir." 

Brassey  did  not  like  to  ex]ilain  the  kind  of  queemess  which 
he  thought  she  displayed. 

"  Well,  say  nothing  to  anyone  about  it,  but  go  to  the  station 
and  find  out  whether  or  not  she  has  gone  by  the  train.  You 
might  also  ask  what  place  she  has  taken  her  ticket  to,  and  then 
drive  bock  to  me  as  fast  as  you  can." 

•*  I  understand,  sir." 

Mr.  Dottridge  sat  down,  his  chin  touching  his  breast,  and  a 
hea\'y,  weary  expression  iqwu  his  face. 

Punctually  at  nine  o'clock  Bapier  was  in  the  drawing-room. 
There  was  trium])h  in  his  face,  although  he  was  making  efforts 


296  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

to  conceal  it,  and  to  maintain  an  aspect  of  becoming  anxiety  for 
the  occasion. 

"  The  day  is  ours,"  he  said  to  his  confidant.  **  She  cannot 
resist  this." 

He  held  in  his  hand  a  h-»tter. 

Euth  did  not  keep  liini  waiting.  She  was  very  pale,  but 
perfectly  self-possessed,  and  more  like  one  who  has  come  to 
discuss  a  serious  matter  of  business  than  a  lady  about  to  give 
her  decisive  answer  to  the  man  who  seeks  her  hand. 

"  I  would  not  have  come,  Mr.  Kapier,  but  for  your  message 
that  you  have  a  letter  from  Dahlia,  which  you  would  only  deliver 
to  myself." 

He  bowed,  and,  without  a  word,  placed  the  letter  in  her  hand. 
It  was  marked,  "  To  be  opened  at  once,"  and  Ruth  obeyed  the 
injunction.     Its  contents  were  brief,  but  terrible : — 

"You  -You,  Ruth  Clark,  luvve  driven  iiie  to  an  act  which  will  briiij:  shame 
upon  you  all.  "  Dahlia." 


CHAPTER  LIU.— Vanquished. 

Kuth  looked  at  the  strange  words  at  first  without  any  sensa- 
tion whatever :  there  was  a  kind  of  stu[K)r  ui)on  her,  and 
that  stupor  bec^ime  deeper  as  she  read  the  words  over  and  over 
again.  The  shock  was  too  great  for  feeling.  In  a  railway 
accident,  a  gunpowder  or  a  gas  explosion,  the  people  who  are 
in  it  feel  nothing  at  first,  and  they  will  go  on  performing 
necessary  duties  unconscious  of  the  wounds  they  have  sus- 
tained. 

So  with  Ruth.  Here  was  a  blow  so  terrible  that  at  first  she 
was  unconscious  of  pain.  Then,  recovering  from  the  8tuix)r, 
but  still  insensible  to  pain,  she  held  the  note  before  Kapier's 
face. 

"  Do  vou  know  what  is  in  this  ? ''  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  but 
with  an  intensity  of  rage. 

Rapier  took  the  paper  and  read  Dahlia's  wild  cry.  He  handed 
it  back  to  her. 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  what  was  in  this  paper,  and  if  I  had 
been  I  would  have  presented  it  sooner  in  spite  of  your  unhapjjy 
objection  to  my  presence." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  was  Ruth's  practical  question. 

Rapier  made  a  little  movement  of  his  hand  as  if  deprecating 
her  impatience. 

"  I  do  not  know  where  she  may  be  at  this  moment,  but  I 
have  no  doubt  we  shall  be  able  to  find  her.  What  I  should  like 
to  know  is,  do  you  see  what  you  are  doing — can  you  feel  what 
you  have  done  ?  " 

She  passed  the  question  with  a  quick  look  of  contempt. 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  297 

"  I  want  to  know  where  is  Mrs.  Meredith  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  I  cannot  say  at  this  moment  where  she 
may  be,  but  I  will  do  my  utmost  to  help  you  in  finding  her 
if  ....  if  you  will  be  good  enough  to  speak  calmly  with 
me  about  our  relationship." 

She  had  been  looking  at  him  with  an  expression  of  eager 
inquiry ;  the  coolness,  the  audacity  with  which  he  answered 
her  produced  a  curious  effect.  There  was  first  a  twist  of  the 
features  as  if  a  sudden  pang  had  passed  through  her ;  then  there 
was  a  perfect  calm  upon  the  pale  face,  and  presently  behind  the 
calm  there  was  the  glimpse  of  a  contemptuous  smile.  You 
have  seen  the  rapid  changes  of  the  sky  at  dawn — that  will 
help  you  to  understand  the  changes  on  Kuth's  countenance. 
This  was  what  passed  through  her  mind. 

-  "  He  is  a  scoundrel.  He  knows  where  she  is  gone  to  ;  he  is- 
trying  to  force  me  to  accept  him  by  casting  upon  me  the  blame 
of  her  madness  .  .  .  She  must  be  saved — for  Stephen's 
sake  she  must  be  saved.  I  will  do  anything  to  accomplish 
that." 

This  is  what  she  said  to  him  :  — 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  there  is  no  change  in  my 
sentiments  regarding  you.  Why  should  you  persist  in  seeking 
to  marry  a  woman  who  dislikes  yv^u  ?  " 

"  Ah,  now  I  see  you  are  beginning  to  discuss  the  matter,  and 
that  indicates  an  inclination  to  yield.  Frankly  then,  I  shall 
tell  you  how  it  stands  in  my  mind.  I  shall  not  trouble  you 
with  any  repetition  of  asseverations  of  my — we  will  call  it  liking 
for  you.  That  would  be  waste  of  time  and  your  patience.  I 
answer,  it  is  my  interest  to  win  you,  and  although  you  may 
not  believe  it,  I  think  it  will  be  a  happiness  to  win  you ;  and  I 
believe  that  after  a  time  you  will  be  content  with  the  bargain.. 
I  am  talking  very  plainly  ?  " 

'*  Very  plainly,"  she  said,  quietly,  and  that  smile  was  more 
conscious  to  herself  than  before,  although  less  visible  to  him. 

"  Then  in  the  next  place — or,  as  you  would  say,  in  the  first 
place — my  fortune  depends  upon  you.  Further,  I  believe  that 
in  winning  you  I  shall  restore  peace  to  Derewood." 

**  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 

«  Try  it." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  two  stood  regarding  each  otlier^ 
eyes  fixed  as  those  of  duellists  whose  swords  are  crossed,  each 
aware  that  the  other  meditates  a  deadly  lunge,  and  each 
knowing  the  movement,  prepared  to  parry  it.  The  advantage, 
however,  was  on  the  woman  s  side,  for  the  man  had  no  suspicion 
of  her  conviction  that  he  was  a  knave  and  her  determination  to 
prove  it. 

'*  I  would  do  a  great  deal  in  order  to  restore  peace  to  Dere- 
wood," 


:>98  OF  HIGH  DEGKEE. 

Sht»  said  that  very  softly  and  as  if  hesitating  about  what  her 
ultimate  deiMsion  was  to  be.  l^pier  smiled  to  himself,  and  if 
he  could  have  spoken  to  his  confidant  then  he  would  have 
said : 

"  1  knew  that  she  would  yield.  I  knew  that  for  Meredith's 
sake  she  would  overcome  her  indifference  to  me.  When  she 
<*<msent8,  lK>ttridge  will  stump  up  handsomely;  and  after  the 
marriage  I  will  give  her  as  much  liberty  as  she  pleases — that  is 
to  siiy  I  shall  l>e  with  her  as  little  as  ptissible,  and  she  shall  lie 
free  to  attend  as  many  mission  meetings  and  good  societies  as 
she  may  1>*  able  to  stand.** 

What  he  saiid  was  : 

*'l  knew  that :  and  thei*efore  I  i>ersist  in  my  suit.  It  is  in 
your  {xnver  to  make  a  number  of  people  happy  without  bringing 
ii|>on  yourself  any  ven-  great  misery." 

"  Vou  think  so." 

•'  I  am  sure  of  it-  unless  you  havt*  some  unconquerable 
repugnance  to  me,  and  that  I  cannot  believe,  as  I  am  uncon- 
st'ious  of  having  dont*  anything  to  provoke  it.  Have  I  done  s«» 
wit  liout  knowing  it  ?  ** 

**  I  am  unalile  to  answer — I  do  not  know  anything  which 
should  make  m»»  have  a  s]>ecial  repugnance  for  you." 

**  Very  well,  then,  the  whole  affiair  is  quite  simple — you  will 
<lis|H)se  of  the  whole  botht^r  in  the  course  of  five  minutes. 
Vou  will  acvept  me,  and  there  can  b«*  u<^  further  distress  to 
Mrs.  Meredith  or  suspense  to  him." 

'*  'Vou  do  not  know  him." 

'*  1  know  human  natun»,  and  his  ])assiou  cannot  last  long 
when  he  knows  that  you  belong  to  another.*' 

''l^ut  what  may  hapi)en  when  he  knows  that  before  his 
jNission  is  exhaust  ed  ?  ** 

"  You  nee<l  have  no  fear.  When  he  awakens  from  his 
present  sleep  he  will  be  as  calm  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
Now  you  cannot  say  that  I  have  bore<l  you  with  sentimental 
jq>lM»als  to  vou?" 

"Xo." 

•*But  f  hope  you  will  understand  that  it  has  not  been  owing 
to  the  absence  of  sentiment.  It  was  because  1  wished  you  to 
take  the  matter  in  the  plain  ordinary  way  in  which  sensible 
people  choose  their  mates.  But  if  you  had  listened  to  me,  I 
might  have  told  you  that,  being  a  man  of  some  experience  in 
the  world,  I  am  still  single  only  because  I  have  never  found  any 
woman  who  could  compel  me  to  admire  and  respect  her  until  1 
met  you.  I  never  met  another  who  could  compel  me  to  forget 
myself.  You  have  done  that,  and  upon  my  word  I  find  it 
difficult  at  this  moment  to  restrain  my  tongue  from  uttering 
the  foolish  asseverations  of  the  common-place  lover,  and  calling 
heaven  and  all  the  stars  to  witness  how  much  I  love  you.     But 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  299 

I  have  gauged  your  nature,  and  know  that  in  doing  so  I  should 
4>nly  displease  you.  So  I  content  myself  by  telling  you  that 
we  should  both  be  gainers,  according  to  my  opinion,  by  joining 
"Our  fortunes,  and  you  would  at  the  same  time  do  an  incalculable 
ser\ice  to  Meredith  and  his  wife." 

He  laid  a  disagreeable  emphasis  on  the  word  "  wife,"  as  if  to 
remind  her  of  the  barrier  between  her  and  Stephen. 

**  Will  you  give  me  one  proof  of  your  regard  for  me  without 
insisting  upon  conditions  of  any  kind  ?  "  she  asked  slowly. 

**  1  will  do  anything  you  wish,"  he  replied  eagerly. 

"  Then  ex})lain  to  me  the  meaning  of  this  strange  note  from 
Pahlia — tell  me  how  I  can  stay  this  mad  action  which  she  tells 
ine  she  is  about  to  commit." 

'^  Permit  me  ?  " 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  she  gave  him  the  note.  His  face 
assumed  an  expression  of  alarm,  and  Ruth's  fears  were  increased 
accordingly. 

'*  Well  ?  "  she  said  imi)atiently. 

"  1  do  not  quite  imderstand  it,"  was  the  frank  and  earnest 
reply.  "  I  know  her  to  be  passionate  and  capable  of  almost 
any  act  of  violence  in  her  present  state  of  fi*t»uzy.  1  know  that 
she  once  attemj>ted  to  commit  suicide." 

"  Ah :  can  that  be  ?  "  cried  Ruth. 

*'  But  she  promiscul  to  wait  at  Derewood  till  I  brought  your 
answer.  Give  me  your  answer  now  or  I  must  go  without  it. 
And  before  you  speak  consider  well  what  may  be  the  con- 
sequences. She  told  me  that  upon  your  reply  would  depend 
the  direction  of  her  course.  You  ask  me  to  tell  you  how  you 
may  save  her  from  this  wild  act  she  meditates.  I  have  told 
you  what  1  believe  to  be  the  only  way  to  save  her  and  to  save 
him." 

'*  But  she  will  be  satisfied  if  she  knows  1  am  going  away  at 
once — never  to  return — never  to  see  Stephen  Meredith  again." 

"  That  will  not  satisfy  a  woman  jealous  to  frenzy,  and  aware 
t  hat  she  does  not  jjossess  her  husband's  love,  which  she  knows 
i  hat  you  do.  But  decide  as  you  will,  only  decide  quickly — for 
whether  you  are  willing  to  help  her  or  not  I  nmst  make  some 
effort  to  save  her." 

There  was  a  generous  resolution  in  his  voice  and  manner 
which  caused  Ruth  for  a  moment  to  question  the  justice  of  her 
suspicions  of  him. 

But  there  was  something  too  generous,  too  fmnk  about  him, 
4K)ns]dering  how  long  and  how  steadily  he  had  sought  to  compel 
her  acceptance  of  him.  She  could  not  understand  why  he 
rihould  be  so  persistent.  Although  she  could  not  altogether 
riuppress  the  promptings  of  the  vanity  common  to  all  woman- 
nature  tliat  he  regarded  her  as  a  sufficient  prize  in  herself, 
xhe  i>erfectly  understood  that  this  man  must  be  actuated  by 


300  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

Home  other  motive  than  that  of  attachment  to  a  penniless 
woman  like  hersi^lf.     What  was  it  ? 

She  answered  quickly  but  deliberately,  and  he  had  no  hint  of 
the  suspicions  which  were  flashing  through  her  mind. 

"  Tell  Dahlia  that  if  it  will  make  her  happy  and  content 
to  know  that  1  am  your  wife — she  has  only  to  come  and  bid 
me  marry  you.'' 

Ruth  felt  her  heart  stop  as  she  spoke  the  words,  but  she 
was  ready  to  make  even  this  sacrifice  for  Stephen's  sake;  and 
in  making  it  she  would  try  to  fulfil  her  duty  to  the  man  she 
married.  There  were  no  sentimental  maunderings  about  dying 
as  soon  as  she  made  the  sacrifice.  If  she  were  forced  to  many 
this  man,  liapier,  she  would  do  her  duty  until  he  proved 
himself  unworthy  of  it. 

l^ut  she  was  sustained  by  the  conviction  that  the  sacrifice 
would  not  be  recpiisite. 

Rapier  seized  her  hand  eagerly,  and  sh(»  allowed  it  to  remain 
in  his,  but  there  was  no  n^s^nmsive  pressure  in  it. 

"With  that  assurance  1  will  save  her,"  he  said,  in  alow  voice, 
"and  with  that  assurance  you  are  mine,  Ruth,  for  I  know  what 
her  reply  will  be." 

Someone  cougluHl  outside.  The  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Dott- 
ridge  entered. 

"  It  is  half-])ast  nine,  Ra])ier,  but  I  would  not  have  tresi)assed 
upon  you  had  it  not  been  for  the  occurrence  of  events  which 
require  immediatt*  attention.  I  am  obliged  to  S|K?ak  to  ycuand 
to  Miss  Clark  with  the  least  possible  delay,  ami  understanding 
the  delicate  nature  of  your  interview,  1  thought  it  best  to  come 
myself." 

''You  have  arrived,  sir,  at  the  moment  when  I  am  enabled  to 
present  to  you  the  lady  who  is  to  be  my  future  wife,"  said 
Rapier,  leading  Ruth  towanls  him.  "  The  few  minutes  which 
have  passed  beyond  the  time  I  mentioned,  I  a:n  sura  you  will 
excuse,  knowing  tin*  im2)ortant  nature  of  the  business  we  have 
in  hand." 

Mr.  Dottridge  sto<Kl  silent,  looking  at  Ruth.  She  would  have 
shrunk  from  his  gjize,  but  inspired  by  an  unaccountable  sensji- 
tion  of  wild  recklessn(»ss,  and  a  feeling  that  this  was  all  a  kind 
of  nightmare  through  which  she  was  passing,  she  did  not  flinch. 

"  I  have  told  Mr.  liapier  that  if  by  consenting  to  accept  him 
I  can  make  Dahlia  happy  I  consent.*' 

There  was  a  moment  of  puzzlement  and  inquiry  in  Mr. 
Dottridge's  mind.  Then  hope  enabled  him  to  grasp  the  position 
much  more  exactly  than  even  Ruth  herself.  What  pain  he 
sufiered  was  soothed  by  the  reflection — "She  is  forced  to  this 
by  her  desire  to  satisfy  Dahlia  and  to  save  Meredith.  WTien  he 
understands  it  all  he  will  release  her  from  her  pledge  to  deny 
me." 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  301 

He  removed  his  eyes  from  Ruth's  face  and  turned  quietly  to 
Rapier. 

"  I  would  offer  you  my  congratulations  more  cordially  if  I 
were  not  too  much  occupied  by  my  anxiety  about  Dahlia.  She 
left  Dunthorpe  station  for  London  without  giving  warning  to 
anyone." 

'*  You  told  me  she  was  waiting  for  you  at  Derewood,"  said 
Ruth  sharply. 

"  And  she  promised  to  wait  for  me  there  till  I  brought  her 
your  answer,"  was  the  sincere  reply  ;  for  Rajiier's  calculations 
were  somewhat  disarranged  by  this  unexpected  movement  of 
Dahlia.  "  There  is  still  time  for  a  telegram  to  reach  Liverpool 
Street  before  the  train  arrives.  The  superintendent  there  can 
easily  iind  her,  and  give  her  a  message,  with  the  assurance  that 
all  she  wishes  is  accomplished." 

"  1  have  already  sent  a  telegram,"  said  Mr.  Dottridge ; 
**  although  I  could  not  giv^  her  that  assurance.  She  will  be 
stopped  at  Liverpool  Street  until  her  husband  arrives.  The 
immediate  business,  therefore,  is  to  rouse  Stephen,  and  by  that 
time  the  carriage  will  be  ready  to  drive  us  to  London.  I  wanted 
to  tell  you,  Rapier,  that  I  am  going  to  your  room  m^'self  to 
attend  to  your  patient." 

Rapier's  position  was  an  awkward  one,  but  he  was  aware  of  it. 
He  knew  that  Ruth  would  be  glad  to  escape  from  him,  and  that 
Dottridge  earnestly  desired  that  she  should.  He  was  one  of  that 
large  class  of  men  who  regard  themselves  as  worthy  of  the 
greatest  admiration  if  they  have  succeeded  in  making  somebody 
pay  twopence  for  what  should  only  cost  a  ]»enny.  He  was,  in 
fact,  a  devotee  of  "  sharp  practice  ;"  and  sharp  practice  involves 
lying  and  knavery  to  any  extent  within  the  limits  of  common 
law,  and  those  limits  provide  a  very  extensive  area  for  the  play 
of  knaves. 

He  had  not  been  prepared  for  this  independent  action  of 
Dahlia;  and  he  had  not  been  prepared  for  the  activity  of 
Dottridge.  But  when  they  came  upon  him  he  met  them  8tx)utly, 
and  with  so  much  frankness,  that  Ruth  again  faltered  in  her 
«uspicions. 

"  Mr.  Dottridge,"  he  said  : 

**  Certainly ;  Meredith  should  be  aroused  at  once — he  is  the 

S roper  person  to  follow  her,  and,  indeed,  he  is  the  only  one  who 
as  the  right  to  exercise  any  control  over  her  movements.  At 
the  same  time,  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  should  like  to  do 
something." 

"  What  ?"  asked  Mr.  Dottridge,  suspiciously. 
^^  I  should  like  to  be  the  means  of  bringing  her  back  safe  to 
Derewood,"  answered  Rapier,  bowing  to  Ruth. 

They  understood  him,  and  neither  could  blame  him  for  his 
desire  or  his  determination  to  hold  to  his  purpose. 


302  OF  HIGH  DEGBEE. 

*'  But  how  will  you  do  it?"  inquired  fiutb,  anxiously. 

**  I  do  not  yet  myself  know  farther  than  this — I  shall  follow 
her,  find  her,  explain  your  engagement  to  me,  and  bring  her 
back." 

"  If  you  know  where  to  find  her,  you  had  better  allow  her 
husband  to  be  the  person  to  bring  her  back,"  said  Dottridge. 
coldly. 

*'  But  I  do  not  know  where  to  find  her  exactly  ;  and  if  I  did 
she  would  not  return  with  her  husband  without  the  assurance 
which  I  am  now — thanks  to  Miss  Clark —enabled  to  give  her, 
that  she  has  no  longer  a  rival,     ^'ou  see  ?'' 

Both  Kuth  and  Dottridge  did  see  and  both  winced;  she, 
because  the  man  had  the  privilege  to  use  her  name  in  this  way; 
and  he,  because  she  did  not  instantly  deny  his  right. 

"  Act  as  you  please,"  said  Dottridge.  "  We  have  all  the  same 
object  to  serve,  and  1  shall  not  grudge*  your  triumph — I  believe 
Miss  Clark  will  not  grudge  it  either  -  if  you  can  by  any  means 
save  the  imhapjiy  household  of  Derewood  from  the  utter  wreck 
which  at  this  moment  threatens  it." 

"  1  will  do  my  best,  and  1  have  no  tloubt  of  success,  if  you 
will  remain  my  friend." 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Kapier  with  effusive*  confidence,  Jis  if  he 
placed  his  whole  life  in  trust  upon  the  fidelity  of  his  friend. 
*' Pardon  me  the  momentarv  hesitation — but  vou  know  that 
Meredith  is  an  honest  fellow,  and  you  can  understand  my 
anxiety  to  prevent  you  from  mistaking  the  meaning  of  what  he 
may  siiy  about  me." 

"  I  understand." 

"Then  that  is  all  right."  He  turned  to  Kuth.  "  Withio 
two  days  I  will  bring  ^Irs.  Meredith's  answer  to  you  here." 

He  bowed  and  quitted  the  room,  an  expression  of  serious 
anxiety  on  his  face. 

Ruth  laid  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  Mr.  Dottridge,  and  said  in 
a  voice  which  betrayed  much  excitement  well  controlled : 

"  You  go  to  Stephen  and  try  to  make^  him  understand  the 
position  in  which  Dahlia  is  placed  by  his  neglect.  Follow  up 
whatever  traces  you  can  find,  but  take  him  with  you." 

«  And  you  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  follow  Mr.  Kapier." 

"What  for?" 

"  Because  1  think  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  me 
that  I  should  speak  to  Dahlia  before  he  does.  He  knows  more 
about  her  going  away  than  he  has  told  us,  and  he  will  find  her 
sooner  than  we  can." 

*'  Well,  he  will  let  us  know  when  he  has  found  her." 

"  No  doubt ;  but  1  must  see  her  first.  It  is  a  race  between 
us,  and  the  result  may  be  of  importance  to  you." 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  305 


"  You  mean  that- 


"Do  not  ask  me  what  I  mean  at  this  moment.  I  scarcely 
know  what  it  is  myself.  Help  me  by  doing  what  I  say.  How 
sliall  we  communicate  Y" 

"Telegraph  to  Bassnett's  office  and  keep  him  informed  of 
your  movements!.     I  shall  do  the  same.*' 

"  That's  enough.     Good  bye." 


CHAPTER  I.IV.— UxXDER  A  Cloud. 

''  He  is  waking  now.  ^'ou  will  find  him  a  little  confused  at 
first,  but  he  will  be  all  right  in  a  few  minutes.  But  even  now 
1  have  some  hesitation  in  leaving  you  to  meet  him  alone.  How- 
ever, have  your  own  way." 

That  was  what  Itapier  said  to  Mr.  Dottridge  when  he  met  him 
at  the  door  of  his  room. 

There  was  a  lamp  burning  on  the  table  in  the  hall ;  the  light 
was  soft,  but  not  brilliant.  Dottridge  with  a  playful  movement 
and  a  peculiar  smile  laid  his  hand  on  Rapiei's  shoulder  and 
turned  him  towards  the  light. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  for  all  your  consideration 
\oY  me,"  he  said  quietly  and  without  the  slightest  indication  of 
satire ;  "  but  I  think  you  are  making  a  mountain  out  of  a  mole- 
liill.  I  am  quite  certain  that  Stephen  Meredith  has  no  intention 
of  murdering  me,  and  that  he  only  desires  to  do  what  is  right. 
So  do  I.  Now  look  here,  my  dear  Rapier,  I  think  there  is 
.something  peculiar  in  your  conduct.  You  have  been  a  good 
friend  and  a  trusty  agent  to  me — can  you  not  exj^lain  what  is  the 
^me  you  are  playing  ?  You  will  gain  more  by  being  frank 
with  me  than  by  trying  to  juggle  with  me." 

Rapier  quietly  removed  the  hand  from  his  shoulder  and 
grasped  it  tightly. 

"  I  am  playing  no  game,  Dottridge,"  he  said,  with  a  tone  of 
sincerity  which  could  not  be  doubted ;  "  it  is  you  who  have  been 
playing  a  game.  My  whole  purpose  is  to  win  Ruth  Clark — I 
believe  that  in  winning  her  I  shall  obtain  not  only  your  assent 
but  your  assistance.  1  believe  that  you  have  sufficient  strength 
in  yourself  to  pardon  a  successful  rival  and  to  say  to  him  good 
speed.  More,  I  believe  that  when  you  understand  the  whole 
lK»sition  you  will  thank  me." 

"  Yea,"  said  Dottridge,  hesitatingly,  "  but  in  the  meantime  I 
do  not  understand  you." 

"  Then  leave  the  matter  as  it  is.  I  can  only  say  to  you  that 
I  mean  to  have  Ruth,  and  that  I  will  use  all  my  strength  and 
all  my  cunning  to  win  her.  Now  I  have  told  you,  is  not  that 
fairr 


304  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

*•  That  is  quite  fair." 

*•  Thanks — I  see  vou  understand." 

m 

*•  I  do — and  am  quite  content  to  enter  into  the  competition. 
But,  remember,  vou  must  win  her  feirly." 
^-  That  shall  h^r 


As  quietly  and  as  calmly  as  if  there  were  nothing  amiss,  Mr. 
Duttridge  went  into  the  room  where  Stephen  lay  in 
a  deep  sleep.  It  was  a  kind  of  stui>or  into  which  the 
distnicteii  man  had  fallen  ;  but  this  was  due  as  much  to  physical 
and  mental  exhaustion  as  to  the  drug  which  Rapier  had 
-admiiiisteretl.  The  latter  had  seen  the  moment  when  the 
judicious  u^e  of  a  sedative  would  be  beneficial  to  the 
j>aticnt,  and  would  serve  his  own  purposes  admirably.  And 
there  was  n«>  doubt  that  in  some  respects  he  did  do  Stephen  a 
good  turn  in  sending  him  to  sleep. 

The  wild  excitement  which  had  been  produced  by  the  perusal 
of  Ruth's  narrative  and  the  discovery  of  Dahlia's  unfortunate 
condition,  combined  with  the  want  of  his  night's  rest,  might 
have  liad  direful  effects  on  his  brain.     The  sleep  saved  him. 

^Ir.  Dottridge  was  now  acquainted  with  enough  of  what  had 
passed  to  make  him  hesitate  to  disturb  his  sleep.  But  the 
emergency  was  too  great.  Dahlia's  safety  must  have  the  first 
consideration. 

"  Stephen,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  sleeper's  shoulder, 
■**  Stephen,  you  must  rouse." 

He  rei)eated  the  words,  accom^^anying  them  with  a  smart  tug 
at  the  shoulder. 

Stephen  drew  a  long,  sighing  breath  ;  then  slowly  rubbed  his 
brow  and  eyes,  and  at  last  looked  up  with  a  dazed,  wondering 
expression,  lie  had  no  recollection  for  the  moment  of  what  had 
passed,  and  seeing  Dottridge  standing  over  him  with  an  anxious 
face  he  was  puzzled  to  know  the  meaning  of  it  all. 

At  this  instant  Brassey  brought  him  a  cup  of  strong  tea  and 
a  biscuit.  He  accepted  the  refreshment  mechanically,  still 
striving  to  make  out  the  meaning  of  it  all. 

While  drinking  the  tea,  memory  gradually  returned,  but  the 
■events  appeared  dimly,  as  through  a  mist,  and  as  yet  he  had 
no  feeling;  no  fierce  passion  stirred  within  him.  It  seemed 
almost  as  if  he  were  remembering  things  which  had  happened 
to  somebody  else.  The  effect  of  the  drug  was  still  working  in 
his  system. 

His  cousin  stood  patiently  watching  him.  No  word  had  yet 
passed  between  them  since  Dottridge  had  called  him  to  arouse. 

He  placed  the  empty  cup  on  a  little  table  near  him,  and 
filowly  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  he  said,  quietly,  and  looking  at 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  305 

Dottridge  with  a  puzzled  expression,  indicating  that  he  was 
not  yet  quite  clear  as  to  what  it  was  he  wanted  to  speak 
about. 

"  Come  to  my  room.     Will  you  take  my  arm  ?" 

"  Take  your  arm !"  was  the  amazed  exclamation. 

"  Yes ;  do  you  not  see  the  change  ?  I  am  restored  to 
life." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes — I  see  the  change,  and — I  begin  to  remember. 
I  know  all  that  has  passed.      I  know  the  miracle  that  has  been 

wrought,  and  how  it  was  wrought thank  you.     I 

will  go  to  your  room,  but  I  do  not  require  assistance." 

Dottridge  led  the  way  and,  prepared  as  he  had  been  by 
Ruth's  narrative,  Stephen  was  amazed  at  the  change  in  the  man 
who  had  made  such  elaborate  preparations  for  his  own  death. 
In  his  present  state — with  the  horrible  sensation  of  a  heavy 
weight  pressing  over  his  whole  brain — Stephen  could  not  help 
feeling  a  certain  sense  of  awe,  almost  of  fear  of  this  man  who 
had  been  in  the  clutch  of  the  grim  Master  of  life,  and  had 
wrenched  himself  free. 

Notwithstanding  this  eerie  feeling,  as  they  walked  along  the 
hall  and  down  the  stairs,  Stephen  was  regaining  the  knowledge 
of  his  own  actions  and  the  motives  which  inspired  them ;  so 
that  when  they  reached  the  room  he  felt  clearer  in  his  head, 
although  the  depressing  weight  was  still  upon  it 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Dottridge,  "  I  do  not  know  whether  to  ask 
you  simply,  what  is  it  you  have  to  talk  about  ?  or  to  tell  you  at 
once  that  I  have  learned  from  Ruth  and  Rapier  that  you  came 
here  this  morning  with  the  most  violent  declarations  against 
me." 

*'  I  believe  I  did,"  was  Stephen's  slow  answer,  passing  his 
hand  over  his  head  as  if  he  would  thrust  away  something  that 
lay  upon  it. 

"  Rapier  was  of  opinion  that  my  life  was  in  danger  if  we  met. 
Of  course  I  treated  that  as  a  piece  of  absurd  exaggeration, 
although  I  thought  it  best  that  we  should  not  meet  until  you 
were  cool.  But  why  should  you  threaten  me  ?  I  never  did  you 
any  intentional  harm." 

'*You  have  done  me  the  cruellest  wrong  that  any  man  could 
do  another  .  .  .  But  my  head  is  not  clear  yet.  After 
that  wine  Rapier  gave  me  I  became  stupefied." 

*'  Wine  !  did  you  not  know  it  was  a  sleeping  draught  he  gave 
you  ?" 

"  Sleeping  draught !"  That  confused  expression  passed  over 
his  face  again,  but  was  suddenly  dispelled  by  a  flash  of 
intelligence,  and  he  hastily  searched  his  coat  i>ocket  as  he 
exclaimed — "The  papers!     .     .     .     They  are  gone." 

"  Do  not  disturb  yourself  about  them ;  they  are  here." 

U 


V~    *    1  -    L.r   "C-_  .,- 


I        I 


V-   -',  ri :  z'..—.   I  ^-i 


-  .  I 


•  !:->- 


"    -  ■  .     .  -  ...        .  .      •    .  .  •    . .. _•     -•     •  r.     .■."  >«.■. .  r 

».  mm  mm  -  ^—  ^^    «  «  *  «^ 

■  a 

'..  ,         ■    '-.  ."  '"■"    i.  '-      /      ■  '      -^    ."       .     .  -i-r     ..Ttrll     *Ii 

*  -      •       ■       ■  • 

I  -  •  • 

•      ••        •      •       ■-•     *-."•••     •.*•-.•:    •-..-":.... fi^     •      -«...•-.■'   i..ulljtr   \«'liJ 

•■  •  _  •  .  * 

ov. /.  v.«-;, ,.  ;.i...   ;i;.'i    •  ;.<-   ;:•.;:  ;-l:   t?*:.:  .  j.  zi...  .r  V  ...I  Sriirve  thai 
Jl'.*r.  v.;i-  '.<:;').     J   ->.y  ;::::i:ri  tr.  i  cii;.::..  I  •"..  i:*::-:  I  was  dointj 

*■  J   lio  not,   lifjrj^-r-t.Mi'i,"  -.liM   Stei.l.en.  coiLiiy.  as  he  became 
tn*iif  un*i  r/io/<r  iij;i-t«-r  of  hiriis^.-lf. 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  307 

**  I  will  give  you  a  full  explanation  down  to  the  minutest 
detail.     But  let  me  do  it  on  our  way  to  London." 

"  Why  are  we  going  to  London  ?" 

*'  To  seek  your  wife." 

*'  Dahlia  ?  she  is  here  or  at  home,"  and  he  shuddered 
as  he  thought  of  the  condition  in  which  he  had  left  her  at 
Derewood. 

*'You  are  mistaken.  She  has  been  driven  to  frenzy  by 
your  conduct,  and  she  has  fled  with  some  mad  intention  of 
doing  something  which  will  cause  us  all  pain.  What  it 
may  be,  heaven  knows,  but  you  know  how  passionate  and 
wilful  she  is,  and  she  may  even  destroy  herself  before  the  fit 
passes  off." 

"  Oh,  my  God,"  groaned  Stephen,  remembering  her  former 
attempt  upon  her  own  life. 

"  We  must  follow  her  at  once.  She  will  be  stopped  at 
Liverpool-street.  I  have  telegraphed  to  Bishop's  Stortford  for 
a  special  train,  and  we  can  be  in  London  a  few  minutes  after 
Dahlia's  train  is  due.     But  we  must  go  at  once." 

"  I  am  ready." 

The  ciirriage  was  waiting  :  the  coachman  had  his  orders,  and 
drove  away  at  a  speed  which  betokened  that  the  journey  was 
one  involving  a  matter  of  life  or  death. 

Arrived  at  the  cold,  draughty,  melancholy  station  of  Bishop 
Stortford,  they  found  an  engine  with  first-class  carriage  attached, 
ready  for  them  ;  but  they  were  obliged  to  wait  for  fifteen  minutes 
in  order  to  allow  the  Cambridge  express,  which  had  just  passed, 
to  get  well  ahead  of  them. 

Dottridge  and  Stephen  had  spoken  little  during  the  furious 
drive  from  Kemerton,  but  in  this  pause  there  was  opiK)rtunity 
for  conversation,  and  Dottridge  took  advantage  of  it. 

Stephen  was  still  in  a  half-dazed  state  at  one  moment,  and 
in  the  next,  wildly  excited  about  Dahlia  and  the  possible 
meaning  of  her  letter  to  Ruth. 

Mr.  Dottridge  was  anxious  about  him,  and,  desirous  of 
diverting  his  thoughts  while  still  keeping  in  view  the  object  of 
the  journey,  he  said  earnestly  : — 

"The  minutes  will  soon  fly,  Stephen,  and  you  must  be 
patient.  H  you  like,  and  if  you  think  you  can  give  attention 
to  it,  1  will  tell  you  about  Dahlia's  mother." 

**  As  you  please,"  said  Stephen,  impatiently  and  indifferently, 
whilst  he  looked  out  at  the  signals  to  see  if  the  one  which 
vould  permit  them  to  pass  had  moved  yet. 

**  I  cannot  say  that  I  please ;  indeed,  I  would  much  rather 
not  speak  at  all  about  a  subject  which  causes  me  so  much  pain, 
but  I  am  anxious  to  show  you  that  I  am  not  so  black  as  your 
imagination  makes  you  believe  me  to  be.  Do  you  care  to  know 
why  I  am  anxious  ?  " 

U  2 


308  OF  HIGH  DEGllEE. 

"  It  might  be  interesting  to  understand  you.  At  present  I 
confess  that  I  do  not." 

^Ir.  Dottridge  settled  himself  back  in  his  seat  and  Ht  a  cigar. 
H(»  offered  one  to  St(»phen,  but  it  wjis  im|mtiently  thrust  away. 
Stephen  was  too  eager  in  watching  the  signal  even  to  smoke. 
Dottridge  quietly  laid  the  cigar  down  beside  him  with  a  box  of 
lights. 

*' You  had  better  smoke  ;  it  will  help  you  to  bear  the  tedium 
of  my  story  and  the  journey." 

*'  Thank  you — presently." 

Kut  with  nervous  haste,  and  apparently  half-unconscious  of 
what  he  was  doing,  he  snatched  up  the  cigar  and  lit  it,  puffing 
out  furious  volumes  of  smoke. 

''That's  better  .  .  .  You  will  not  find  it  difficult  to 
understand  me  when  1  tell  vou  that  I  once  endured  a 
<lisappointment  more  bitter  than  yours,  because  1  had  no  part 
in  bringing  it  about.  This  journey  which  we  are  taking  in 
])ursuit  of  Dahlia  n^minds  me  of  a  similar  journey — only  I  was 
not,  like  you,  in  pursuit  of  my  wife,  but  of  the  woman  who 
should  have  been  so." 

Dottridge  paused.  He  was  speaking  with  much  deliberation; 
but  it  was  evident  that  tht»  memories  of  the  past  still  luid 
power  to  awaken  painful  emotions. 

"You  mean  her  mother.     Well  ?" 

'*Kight.  Of  course  you  understand  she  was,  in  my  eyes,  a 
beautiful  girl ;  and,  if  you  can  beli(»ve  it,  I  cared  as  much  for 
her  as  you  did  for  Kutli.  1  have  only  now  come  to  understand, 
or  rather  to  admit  to  myself,  that  anybody  could  have  such 
strong  feelings  of  devotion  as  mine  were.  You  know  we  are  all 
full  of  selfish  vanity  in  these  matters,  and  every  man  l>elieves 
that  no  other  is  capable  of  such  devotion  as  himself.  .... 
I  might  have  acted  diflerently  towards  you  if  I  had  learned  that 
lesson  sooner." 

"  Would  to  heaven  you  had  I "  muttered  Stephen  smoking 
viciously,  and  still  h)oking  out  at  the  window. 

"  I  wish  so  too,  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Dottridge  earnestly; 
"  but  we  cannot  help  that  now,  except  by  walking  more  clearly 
in  the  future.     I  am  hoping  that  what   I   tell  you  may  enable 

us  to  do  so ;    otherwise*  I  should  not  sjieak  of  it 

The  girl  was  the  daughter  of  a  city  friend,  a  man  who  appeared 
to  be,  if  not  wealthy,  at  least  in  a  safe  position.  He  was  in 
reality  on  the  brink  of  bankruptcy  when  1  became  acquainted 
with  him  and  his  family,  but  contrived  to  stave  off  the  evil  day 
by  various  means,  so  that  for  a  long  time  he  kept  up  a  false 
appearance  of  a  flourishing  business." 

I  understand  that  is  not  uncommon  in  the  city,"  said  Stephen, 
carelessly." 


OF  HIGH  DP:GIIEE.  309 

"  Ay,  but  it  would  be  uncommon  if  false  pretences  could 
always  be  detected  at  the  beginning.  You  are  aware  that  I 
was  unusually  successful  when  still  very  young.  This  man 
became  my  friend  ;  he  assisted  me  with  advice,  which,  I  am 
bound  to  say,  was  always  valuable.  And  that,  by  the  way,  is 
a  curious  thing,  that  men  can  often  be  much  wiser  in  the  affairs 
of  their  friends  than  in  their  own.  1  was,  of  course,  frequently 
his  guest,  and  a  marriage  was  soon  arranged  between  me  and 
his  daughter.  It  would  be  ridiculous  to  attempt  to  describe 
the  wild  passion  with  which  I  regarded  that  girl.  Think  of  all 
that  I  now  believe  you  have  felt  for  liuth,  and  you  wfll 
understand  it." 

"And  did  she  pledge  herself  to  you,"  said  Stephen, 
bitterly. 

'"  She  did,"  continued  Dottridge,  quietly ;  ''  but  in  looking 
upon  the  past  I  am  enabled  to  do  her  this  justice,  that  her 
pledge  was  given  with  a  coldness  and  a  restraint  which  should 
have  warned  me  that  it  was  given  under  compulsion.  Looking 
upon  the  past,  I  can  see  how  every  sign  of  affection  was  a 
pretence — a  part  acted  so  badly  that  it  could  only  have  deceived 

a  blind  lover Enough  of  that.      I  believed  her  to 

be  sincere.  The  marriage  day  was  fixed,  and  on  the  night 
before  it  we  discovered  that  she  had  gone  away  with  a  man 
unknown  to  any  of  us.  We  afterwards  learned  that  he  was  one 
of  those  hangers-on  to  tlie  uttermost  skirts  of  society  who, 
having  a  few  pounds  a  year,  contrive  to  live  as  if  they  had 
thousands  until  their  unfortunate  creditors  find  them  out.  I  do 
not  know  how  she  could  have  become  attached  to  such  a  man^ 
but  I  suppose  his  tailor  had  something  to  do  with  it.  There  is 
no  difficulty  in  understanding  how  he  became  attached 
to  her;  he  believed  her  to  be  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  city 
merchant. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Stephen,  at  last  interested. 

"  Well,  we  pursued,  but  it  was  three  months  before  I  dis- 
covered her.  By  that  time  her  father  had  become  bankrupt, 
and  I  found  her  deserted  by  the  scoundrel  who  had  taken  her 
away.  He  had  left  her  as  soon  as  he  found  that  she  w^as 
penniless.  I,  too,  in  my  mad  indignation  at  her  falsehood, 
spumed  her  and  left  her.     She  was  thus  friendless,  became 

reckless,  and  drink  did  the  rest You  can  guess  the 

miserable  life  which  followed.  But  by  the  time  Dahlia  was  bom 
I  had  become  sensible.  I  took  care  of  the  child,  and  did  what  I 
could  for  the  mother ;  but  she  died  soon  aft«r. 

Dottridge  paused,  walked  to  the  other  side  of  the 
carriage,  and  looked  out  at  the  window.  Then  he  returned 
quietly. 

"  Now  you  know  the  whole  miserable  story.     You  can  easily 


310  OF  HIGH  DEGBEE. 

fill  ill  the  details.  Y<ni  can  understand  the  remorse  I  felt  and 
feel  for  having  desert e<l  the  woman  I  loved  at  the  moment  when 
she  most  needed  a  friend,  and  why  I  have  regarded  Dahlia  with 
so  much  att'oction  whilst  mv  conduct  towards  her  has  been  so 

peculiar I  implore  you  now  to  keep  this  story  in 

mind,  and  \^e  careful  of  vour  conduct  to  Dahlia.  You  may 
sjive  yourself,  if  you  act  wisely  at  this  moment,  from  a  life  of 
remorse.'' 

"Keady  to  start,  sir,''  said  the  guard,  looking  in  at  the 
window. 

"All  right,"  answered  Dottridge,  and  the  special  train 
started. 

(To  he  conthined). 


WELSH  MEMBEKS  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS, 


A  few  words  of  explanation  are  oflfered  in  regard  to  the 
following  sketches  of  Welsh  politicians.  In  the  first  place,  no 
mention  will  be  made  of  those  who  held  office  before  1689, 
Previous  to  that  date  public  offices  were  few,  and  those  indistinct. 
The  affairs  of  the  nation  were  often  managed  by  the  Sovereign 
in  person,  and  in  many  cases  in  which  he  delegated  his 
authority  to  a  subject  that  privilege  degenerated  into  a 
dangerous  and  obnoxious  monopoly,  which,  though  of  immense 
profit  to  the  patentee,  was  of  little  use  to  the  public.  The 
records  o^jmblic  offices  were  also  very  much  neglected,  so  that 
it  would  be  difficult  at  the  present  time  to  define  either  their 
o])jects  or  limits,  and  little  but  their  name  is  now  known.  In 
the  calm  after  the  Revolution,  however,  the  business  of  the 
country  had  leisure  to  increase,  and  different  interests  occasioned 
the  creation,  or  at  least  the  re-organisation,  of  those  offices  under 
( rovemment  which  exist  in  the  Nineteenth  Century.  ]Moreover, 
it  has  been  thought  the  best  plan  to  include  all  those  statesmen 
who  represented  Welsh  constituencies,  and  not  Welshmen  alone. 
It  would  be  impossible  to  draw  the  line  otherwise  as  to  who  was 
Welsh  or  not.  In  the  great  majority  of  cases  to  which  exception 
might  be  taken,  it  will  be  found  on  investigation  that  ancestors  of 
the  politicians  with  English  names  have  been  settled  in  Wales  for 
centuries,  and  that  they  have,  time  after  time,  intermarried  with 
old  Welsh  families.  In  the  one  or  two  cases  in  which  gentlemen 
totally  unconnected  with  the  Principality  have  sat  for  a  brief 
period  for  a  Welsh  borough,  it  will  be  mostly  found  that  they 
only  did  so  temporarily,  as  when  they  were  defeated  at  another 
place.  In  conclusion,  it  may  be  stated  that  Monmouthshire 
will  be  included  as  being  aWelsh  county,  if  not  one  of  the  counties 
of  Wales,  and  that  no  mention  will  be  made  of  statesmen  alive 
at  the  present  moment.  With  a  reminder  that  there  was  no 
"  Dod"  in  olden  times  to  illustrate  the  Houses  of  Parliament, 
whose  proceedings  were  most  jealously  guarded  and  withheld 
from  the  public,  the  reader  is  without  further  preface  presented 
to  "  the  elected  of  Wales  in  office." 

John,  Earl  of  Carbery. 

This  distinguished  nobleman  was  descended  from  an  old  Welsh 


312\V'ELSH  MEMBERS  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS. 

family,  who  held  estates  in  Ireland  as  well  as  in  their  native 
land,  a  fact  which  may  be  taken  as  the  reason  why  a  Welshman 
should  become  possessed  of  a  Peerage  of  Ireland.  Jjord  Carbery 
was  the  second  son  of  Kichard,  second  Earl  Carbery,  and  was 
born  in  the  year  1640.  It  is  probable  that  his  father,  as  became 
a  Welshman,  was  a  Ix>yalist,  for  at  the  coronation  of  King 
Charles  II.,  in  April,  1061,  his  youthful  son  (the  subject  of  this 
sketch)  was  created  a  Knight  of  the  Order  of  the  Bath.  In  the 
same  year  Sir  John  attained  his  majority,  and  was  returned  to 
Parliament  for  the  borough  of  Carmarthen,  which  he  continued 
to  represent  till  his  succession  to  the  Peerage.  On  the  death  of 
his  elder  brother  (the  first  husband  of  Lady  Rachel  Kussell),  in 
1667,  he  (as  eldest  son)  assumed  by  courtesy  the  title  of  Lord 
Vaughan.  He  rose  so  rapidly  in  the  estimation  of  the  Sovereign 
and  his  Ministers,  that  at  the  eaily  age  of  30  he  was  ap})ointed 
to  the  (joveniorshij)  of  Jamaica,  which  he  held  for  eight  years, 
returning  home  in  1678.  In  August,  1683,  he  became  a  Lord 
Commissioner  of  the  Admiralty,  but  he  resigned  the  following 
May.  From  this  and  other  circumstances  it  may  be  presumed 
that  Lord  Vaughan  viewed  the  Komish  doctrines  witl^disfavour, 
and  consequently  was  not  well  received  at  Court  during  the 
succeeding  reign.  He  retired  to  his  seat,  Cfolden  (irove, 
Carmarthenshire,  in  company  with  his  Chaplain,  the  good 
Jeremy  Taylor.  On  the  decease  of  his  father,  in  1687,  he  became 
third  Earl  of  Carbery  in  the  Peerage  of  Ireland  and  second 
Baron  Vaughan  in  the  Peerage  of  England,  by  which  last  title 
he  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords.  Being  well  versed  in 
literature  he  sought  repose  during  the  troubled  years  of  the 
second  James's  reign  in  that  congenial  pursuit,  and  from  1686  to 
1689  he  held  the  distinguished  post  of  President  of  the  Koyal 
Society.  Lord  Carbery  welcomed  the  advent  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange  to  England  as  the  only  way  of  averting  anarchy  and 
misery  from  the  country.  When  that  great  Prince  was  led  to 
the  throne,  Lord  Carbery  accepted  office  again  as  a  I^ord  of  the 
Admiraltv.  His  second  term  of  office  at  the  Board  extended 
nearly  two  years,  from  March,  1689,  to  January,  1691,  and  from 
that  period  he  appears  to  have  giadually  retired  from  public  life. 
His  Lordship  was  twice  married, — first  to  Mary,  daughter  of 
George  Brown,  Esq.,  of  Carmarthenshire,  and  secondly,  to  Lady 
Anne  Saville,  daughter  of  George,  first  Marquis  of  Halifax,  the 
celebrated  Minister,  but  had  no  issue.  It  may  be  su])posed  that 
Lord  Halifax  had  naturally  much  influence  over  his  son-in-law, 
and  that  the  opinions  of  the  young  statesman  became  similar  to 
those  of  his  kinsman,  that  famous  master  politician.  Ix)rd 
Carbery  was  endowed  with  talents  which  won  him  great  resjiect 
in  those  days,  and  his  private  life  gained  him  many  iriends. 
At  his  death,  which  took  place  at  the  age  of  72,  on  the  16th  of 
January.  T71  a.  the  title  became  extinct. 


WELSH  SIEMBERS  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS.  3ia 

Right  Honourable  Francis  G\^tx. 
Francis  Gwyn  was  bom  in  the  same  year  that  King  Charles  I. 
was  beheaded,  in  1649.  Nothing  is  known  of  his  early  life,  but 
it  appears  that  he  resided  in  Devonshire,  and  that  in  1673  he 
was  elected  to  Parliament  for  the  borough  of  Chippenham,  in 
Wiltshire,  most  likely  as  the  nominee  of  the  patron  of  that 
borough.  It  is  a  curious  circumstance  in  his  career,  though 
quite  customary  at  that  and  the  succeeding  ]>eriod,  that  he  never 
but  once  represented  any  other  constituency  than  a  close 
borough.  This  would  seem  to  point  to  the  conclusion  that  Mr.- 
Gwyn  was  recognised  as  a  useful  member,  and  could  ill  be  spared 
from  his  place  in  the  House.  He  sat  for  Chippenham  till  1678, 
when  a  blank  occurred  in  his  Parliamentary  career,  the  reason 
of  which  is  not  apparent,  but  which  was  probably  occasioned  by 
a  temporary  difference  with  his  patron,  or  a  few  years  of  travel 
on  the  Continent.  Be  this  as  it  may,  in  1685  he  succeeded  the 
famed  Bussy  Mansel  in  the  representation  of  Cardiff,  and  was 
at  once  appointed  Joint  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  with  Henry 
Guy.  This  office  had  only  been  created  a  few  years  previously, 
and,  as  a  new  and  important  situation,  the  labour  and  respon- 
sibility must  have  been  most  arduous,  as  may  be  gathered  from 
the  fact  that  both  previously  and  afterwards  the  duties  were 
discharged  by  one  Secretary.  Mr.  Gwyn's  opinions  soon  after 
this  time  seemed  to  have  undergone  a  change  in  their  relation 
to  the  Court,  for  in  1687  he  resigned  his  office.  He  held  for  a 
few  years  the  office  of  one  of  the  four  Clerks  of  the  Privy 
Council  in  Ordinary,  but  this  he  vacated  likewise,  somewhere 
about  1688  or  1689.  When  King  James  II.  abdicated  the 
throne  and  fled  the  realm,  in  1688,  the  Ix>rds  who  acted  as 
Regents  during  the  interregnum  selected  Mr.  Gwyn  to  fill  the 
onerous  position  of  their  Secretary,  an  office  which  he  continued 
to  discharge  in  ji  zealous  and  efficient  manner  until  the  Crown 
was  accepted  by  William  of  Orange.  In  1689  he  changed  his 
seat  from  Cardiff  to  Christchurch.  In  1 695  he  was  elected  for 
Callington,  in  Cornwall.  In  1698  he  removed  to  Totnes,  in 
Devon,  and  from  1701  to  1714  (when  most  likely  he  was 
defeated  at  Totnes)  he  again  sat  for  Christchurch.  His  name 
does  not  appear  as  holding  office  during  the  reign  of  William 
III.,  but  from  the  fact  of  his  being  a  Privy  Councillor  of  Ireland, 
it  may  be  believed  that  the  King  was  not  neglectful  of  his 
services,  and  that  he  accompanied  his  Royal  master  to  Ireland, 
and  filled  some  responsible  post  there.  Recovering  from  a  state 
of  bloodshed  and  disorder,  that  unhappy  country  would  indeed 
require  much  thought  and  care.  What  more  likely  than  that, 
searching  for  an  able  and  hard-working  official  to  re-organise 
the  loosened  reigns  of  government,  His  Slajesty  should  fix  upon 
Mr.  Gw3m.  Returning  to  England  his  exertions  were  rewarded 
with  a  quiet  seat  at  the  Board  of  Trade  and  Plantations,  of  which 


:U4  WELSH  MEMBERS  OF  FORMER  ADMIXISTRATION& 

he  became  a  Lord  Commissioner  in  June,  1711,  from  which  iKWt 
lie  WHS  c<aUe(l  in  August,  1713,  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  Secretary 
Jit  War,  at  a  time  when  Europe  was  just  recovering  from  the 
<listractions  of  the  campaign  in  the  Ix)w  Countries.  On  the 
accession  of  George  I.,  in  September,  1714,  the  Tory  views  of 
Mr.  (iwyn  ohished  with  those  of  the  Court,  and  he  resigned 
office,  which  he  never  held  more.  In  1717  he  for  the  third  time 
was  returned  for  Christ  church,  which  he  exchanged  at  the 
general  election  of  1722  for  Wells,  which  place  he  represented 
until  his  death.  He  was  married  to  a  daughter  of  Edmund 
Prideaux,  Es(|.,  of  Ford  Abbey,  Devonshire  (by  whom  he  had  a 
son,  l^Vancis  Ciwyn,  afterwards  M.P.  for  Wells),  and  died  at  the 
great  age  of  8.>,  in  June  1734,  being  then,  although  not  the 
"Father  of  the  House,"  the  oldest  member  within  its  walls, 
having  sat  in  Parliament  fifty-<^ne  years.  Mr.  Gwyn  may  be 
described  as  a  man  of  solid  powers,  nither  than  as  a  brilliant 
political  genius,  though  the  splendid  manner  in  which  he 
d(»s[)atched  the  business  of  divers  successive  offices  entitles  him 
to  th(?  greatest  praise. 

Thomas  Lord  Manskl. 

IMiilip  .Alansel,  so  it  is  stated  in  the  Peerages,  came  over  with 

William  the  (^oncjuoror.     From  him  descended  Sir  John  Mansel, 

Knight,   liord  Chancellor  to  Henry  III.     His  son.  Sir  Thomas 

Mans(»l,  Knight  HanncTet,  was  a  distinguished  soldier,and  had  a 

stni,  Jlenry  Mansel,  who  settled  in  Glamorganshire,  in  the  reign 

of  Ji}<]wanl  I.     His  descendant  in  the   fourth   generation,  Sir 

Rice  ^Mansel,  was  instrumental  in  suppressing  a  rebellion   in 

Ireland,  and  was  rewarded   by  a   grant  ''of  the  seite  of  the 

monastery  of  Margam,  in  (iloucestershire."  His  eldest  grandson, 

Sir  Thomas,  was  ancestor  of  the  subject  of  this  notice  ;  liis  second 

grandson,  Francis,  was  created  a  Baronet  in  July,  1621,  a  title 

which  has  lately  become  extinct.     Sir  Thomas  ilansel,   lastly 

mentioned,  was  one  of  the  original  Baronets  of  1611.     Young 

jNIr.  Mansel  was  the  eldest  son  of  Sir  P'dward  ^lansel,  of  Margam, 

Kilamorganshire,  and  was  born  in  the  reign  of  Charles  11.     In 

1689  he  was  elected  member  of  Parliament  for  CardiflF,  which 

he  represented  for  ten  years,  till    1699,  when  he  succeeded  his 

relative  Pussy  Mansel,  as  Knight  of  the  Shire  for  his  native 

<.^ounty,  for  which  he  continued  to  sit  without   inteiTui)tion  till 

he  was  raised  to  the  House  of  Jvords.     In  the  House  he  soon 

attracted  notice,  but  it  was  not  till  April,  1704,  that  he  accepted 

-office,  when   he  was  api)oint€(l  to   the    distinguished   post  of 

Comptroller  of  the  Household  to  Queen  Anne,   and  was  sworn 

of  Her  Majesty's  Privy  Council.     The  office  of  Comptroller  was 

of  ancient  origin,  and  its  duties  necessarily  brought  its  holder 

much  under  the  Royal  notice.  Wlienever  the  House  of  Commons 

presented  an  address  to  the  Sovereign,  it  was  the  Comptroller 


WELSH  MEMBERS  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS.  315 

-who  brought  back  the  Royal  reply.  The  post  was,  therefore,  one 
of  great  dignity  and  high  honour,  while  the  salary  was  higher 
than  that  of  many  other  political  offices.  Sir  Thomas  (for  he  had 
succeeded  his  father  as  fourth  Baronet  about  this  time)  resigned 
his  post  in  April,  1708,  along  with  several  other  members  of 
the  Government,  one  of  whom  was  the  future  Viscount 
Bolingbroke,  then  the  Right  Honourable  Henry  St.  John, 
^Secretary  at  War.  It  may  be,  therefore,  concluded  that  the 
worthy  Baronet's  opinions  inclined  to  those  of  a  Tory.  On  the 
disgi'ace  of  the  Whigs,  in  two  years'  time,  he  again  took  office, 
but  this  time  as  a  Lord  of  the  Treasury.  This  was  in  August, 
1710,  and  in  the  following  May  he  returned  to  his  old  post  in 
the  Royal  Household.  In  January,  1712,  the  Government  were 
desirous  of  increasing  their  influence  in  the  Upper  House,  and  Her 
IVIajesty  was  persuaded  to  create  twelve  new  Peers,  of  whom  the 
(Comptroller  became  one  with  the  title  of  Baron  Mansel,  of 
Margam.  This  heavy  and  sudden  addition  to  the  Peerage  was 
viewed  with  the  greatest  disfavour  and  suspicion  at  the  time. 
A  story  is  told  that  when  these  twelve  noblemen  took  their 
seats,  a  member  of  the  Opposition  inquired  whether  they  voted 
by  their  foreman.  Lord  Mansel  had  now  become  possessed  of 
the  esteem  of  his  Sovereign,  as  well  as  of  the  gratitude  of  the 
Tory  chiefs,  for  faithful  services  rendered  for  many  years,  and 
during  grave  crises,  and  so  in  July,  1712,  he  exchanged  the 
<  'omptrollership  for  the  very  lucrative  post  of  a  Teller  of  the 
Exchequer.  Besides  the  Chancellor  and  Judicial  members  of 
the  Exchequer,  there  were  in  those  days  several  great  offices  on 
the  revenue  side  of  the  Exchequer,  of  immense  profit  and 
influence.  These  were  the  Auditor  of  the  Exchequer,  the  four 
Tellers,  the  Clerk  of  the  Pells,  Comptroller,  Usher,  and  two 
Chamberlains  of  the  Exchequer,  each  of  whom  had  a  large  staff 
of  clerks  under  him.  Each  Teller  had,  moreover,  the  power  to 
appoint  a  Deputy  to  act  for  him,  and  when  it  is  considered 
that  such  an  appointment  was  practically  a  sinecure,  and  that 
its  profits  varied  from  £6,000  to  £40,000  a  year,  it  will  be 
admitted  that  Lord  Mansel's  services  must  have  been  of  a  very 
high  nature  to  deserve  such  a  reward.  In  1714,  however.  Queen 
Anne  died,  and  all  patents  became  determined.  King  George  I. 
and  his  advisers  were  not  favourable  to  the  Tories  and  Jacobites 
of  the  previous  reign,  and  accordingly  I^rd  Mansel  yielded  up 
his  office  in  November,  1714,  to  a  Whig  successor.  Old  age  was 
now  creeping  on,  and  his  Lordship  took  little  further  part  in 
political  life.  He  died  in  December,  1723,  leaving  by  his 
marriage  with  Martha,  sole  daughter  and  heiress  of  Thomas 
Millington,  Esq.,  a  London  merchant^  issue  three  sons  and  three 
daughters — Robert,  Christopher,  Bussy ;  Martha,  Elizabeth,  and 
Mary.  His  eldest  son,  Robert,  married  Anne,  daughter  and 
coheiress  of  Sir  Cloudesly  Shovel,  Knight.     He  died  before  his 


316  WELSH  MEMBEKS  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIOXS. 

father,  and  by  her  left  issue  one  son  and  one  daughter,  which  son 
puccetided  in  the  honour.  The  title  became  extinct  on  the 
decease  of  the  fourth  Lord  (Bussy  Mansel)  in  1750. 

Sir  John  Trevor. 

This  distinguished  lawyer  was  descended  maternally  from  an 
ancient  Welsli  family,  and  is  said  to  have  been  a  cousin  of  L^rd 
Chaui'cllor  Jeti'n^ys,  by  whom  he  was  brought  up.  He  was  btim 
in  1637.  He  adopted  the  profession  of  the  law,  and,  aided  by 
great  natural  abilities,  and  the  influence  of  his  cousin*  rose 
rapidly  to  eniinence.  He  was  Knighted,  at  the  age  of  33,  in 
January,  1671.  In  two  years' time  he  entered  Parliament  for  the 
IMK'ket  borough  of  Castle  Rising,  in  Norfolk.  In  1678  he  was 
returned  for  Beeralston, in  Cornwall;  and  in  1680  for  Denbigh- 
shire, for  which  county  he  sat  eight  yeare.  This  latter  was  the 
only  constituency  of  importance  he  ^ver  represented.  In  1085 
he  was  chosen  Speak(»r  of  the  House  of  Commons,  whose  chair 
was  then  nearly  always  tilled  by  a  lawyer,  and  this  position  he 
occupied  for  three  years.  At  that  time  it  was  not  unusual  for 
two  othc(»s  of  a  very  dit!erent  nature  to  be  held  by  one  person  at 
th(»saine  time,  and  accordingly  it  is  recorded  that  Sir  John  also 
held  the  high  judicial  post  of  Master  of  the  Rolls,  from  October, 
1680,  to  March,  1689.  When  aft'airs  became  sett leil  after  the 
troubles  of  the  Revolution,  Sir  John  was  again,  in  1690,  chosen 
Speaker.  He  was  First  Commissioner  of  the  Great  Seal  from 
]\Iay,  1690,  to  March,  1693,  and  in  January,  1693,  he  also 
resumed  his  seat  at  Ww  Rolls  Court.  In  May,  1689,  he  was 
once  more  returned  for  Beeralston,  and  in  the  following  year  was 
elected  for  the  borough  of  Yarmouth,  in  the  Isle  of  Wiglit. 
But  in  ^Nlarch,  169t>,  his  Parliamentary  career  was  brought  to  an 
abrui)t  ch>se,  and  he  ipiitted  his  place  with  more  celerity  than 
honour,  though  not  of  his  own  free  will,  for  alas  I  grave 
suspicions  had  be(»n  aroused  in  regard  to  his  conduct  in  the 
chair,  and  he  was  ex])elled  the  House  for  accepting  bribes. 
Stninge  to  say,  though,  he  continued  Master  of  the  Rolls  till  his 
death,  which  took  place  in  May,  1717.  From  this  circumstance  it 
may  be  questioned  whether  he  was  unjustly  accused,  were  it  not 
that  then,  as  well  as  now,  bribery  was  often  less  regarded  as  a 
sin  than  as  an  indiscretion.  Sir  John  Trevor  was  imdoubtedly 
a  man  of  great  and  splendid  talents,  but  F.velyn,  in  his  JJiary^ 
calls  him  "a  bold  bad  man."  On  the  other  hand,  the  Histoi^ical 
Re(jistev  says  that  *'  he  was  a  true  lover  of  his  country,  and  in 
all  reigns  a  firm  and  constant  patriot  of  our  Constitution,  both 
in  Church  and  State.  He  filled  all  his})laces  with  that  acuteness 
of  understanding,  solidity  of  judgment,  and  great  sufficiencyt 
especially  in  the  chair  and  upon  the  bench,  that  few  or  none 
had  ever  excelled  him.''  He  was  buried  on  the  30th  of  May,  in 
the  Rolls  Chapel,  in  Chancery  I^ne.     His   Honour  resided  at 


WELSH  MEMBERS  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS.  317 

Brynkinalt,  Denbighshire.  He  left  an  only  daughter,  married 
to  Michael  Hill,  Esq.,  of  Hillsborough,  County  Down,  whose  two 
:^ons  were  respectively  created  Viscount  Hillsborough  and 
Viscount  Dungannon. 

Sir  Johx  Wynx, 

the  only  son  and  heir  of  Sir  Thomas  Wynn,  Bart,  of  Bodvean, 
was  born  about  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  and  in  January, 
1740,  on  a  chance  vacancy  occurring  in  the  representation  of 
Carnarvonshire,  he  was  elected  Knight  of  the  Shire  without 
opposition,  his  father  being  at  the  same  time  member  for  the 
borough.  Being  a  supporter  of  the  Minister  in  power,  and 
partly  perhaps  through  the  influence  of  his  father,  who  was 
Equerry  to  King  George  II.,  he  was  appointed  in  January,  1743, 
Deputy  Cofterer  of  His  Majesty's  Household.  ]Mr.  Wynn  was 
•one  of  the  first  who  held  that  office  that  had  the  honour  of  a  seat 
in  Parliament.  The  salary  and  official  status  of  the  post  cannot 
be  now  properly  estimated,  but  the  Deputy  was  appointed  by 
his  immediate  chief  and  not  by  the  Crown,  and  usually  retired 
with  him.  Thus  in  December,  1743,  Lord  Sandys,  on  retiring 
from  the  Chfincellorship  of  the  Exchequer,  accepted  the  post  of 
Cofferer,  and  thereupon  appointed  Mr.  Robert  Ord  his  Deputy, 
in  the  place  of  Mr.  Wynn,  who  of  course  now  retired.  At  the 
general  election  of  1741,  he  was  returned  for  the  borough  of 
Denbigh,  and  in  April,  1744,  the  office  of  Deputy  Treasurer  of 
the  Royal  Hospital,  at  Chelsea,  was  conferred  u^ion  him.  As 
the  Treasurership  was  always  held,  ex-officioy  by  the  Paymaster 
Oeneral  for  the  time  being,  the  actual  work  fell  upon  Mr.  Wynn. 
Before  this,  his  marriage  with  Miss  Jane  Wynn,  daughter  and 
heiress  of  John  Wynn,  Esq.,  of  ^lelai,  Denbighshire,  had  taken 
place.  By  her  he  had  a  family  of  two  sons  and  two  daughters. 
On  the  13th  April,  1749,  he  succeeded  to  the  Baronetcy  upon 
the  death  of  his  father.  He  had  quitted  Parliament  two  years 
previously.  In  June,  1754,  he  retired  from  his  post  at  Chelsea 
Hospital.  He  died  shortly  afterwards  at  Blackheath,  in  August, 
175G,  and  was  succeeded  by  his  eldest  son.  Sir  Thomas  Wynn, 
M.P.  for  Carnarvonshire,  who  was  created  a  Peer  of  Ireland,  in 
July,  1776,  by  the  title  of  Lord  Newborough.  Sir  John  was  a 
good  man  of  business,  and  brought  great  perseverance  to  his 
official  labours,  but  for  thp  study  of  politics  he  had  little  taste 
and  less  inclination. 


SPUING. 


With  stirring,  soft  expectancy  that  broods 
Over  the  humid,  misty  meadow-land, 
Infusing  into  Nature's  slumbers,  bland 

Dreams  that  awjiken  her  in  sweetest  moods, — 

Fair  Spring  is  come ;  and  in  this  tangled  space 

Of  garden  ground,  on  tender  branch  and  spray. 

That  upward  shoot  witli  supple  vernal  grace 

The  leaf-buds  swell  and  thicken  day  by  day. 

Gliding  between  the  young  boughs'  reaching  arms 
That  on  her  hair  bright  diamond  dew-drops  fling. 
Comes  Gwen,  bare-headed,  slim,  and  lithe,  and  tall  ; 
So  light,  her  footsteps  scarcely  seem  to  fall ; 
Foreshadowing  in  her  deep  eyes'  wistful  charms 
The  bloom  and  ripeness  coming  after  Spring. 

llanberis.  Edward  Foulkes. 


DAPHNE. 

On  Peneus'  bank  once  dwelt  a  maiden  fair, 

Bright  as  the  sun,  with  thoughts  as  free  as  air, 

And  she  was  happy,  midst  its  lovely  vales, 

As  oft  she  roamed  o'er  hills  and  pleasant  dales. 

Child  of  the  river,  pure  as  crystal  stream, 

Daphne  smiled  on,  nor  did  she  ever  dream 

Of  sorrow  in  that  lovely  peaceful  spot, 

Until  Apollo  came,  who  heeding  not 

That  she  his  love  did  scorn,  yet  her  pursued, 

And  like  a  mortal  still  in  vain  he  sued. 

He  thought  that  god-like  grace  her  love  must  win  p 

In  rapturous  words  he  spoke,  nor  thought  it  sin 

To  chase  that  fleeting  form,  those  supple  limbs. 

Which  onward  sped,  in  fear  and  hate,  while  hymna 

Of  pity  to  great  Zeus  she  wildly  raised, 


DAPHNE  311> 

As  back  in  terror  oft  she  madly  gazed 
On  him  who  followed  ;  and  the  balmy  air 
Played  with  the  masses  of  her  golden  hair, 
And  Zephyr  breezes,  with  compassion  sweet. 
Lent  tender  aid  unto  her  flying  feet. 
But  still  he  nearer,  ever  nearer,  drew 
In  close  pursuit,  his  victim  still  in  view; 
In  eager  haste  she  strained  her  trembling  fram  *», 
A  few  more  steps,  and  to  the  river  came. 
Then  turned  and  looked  at  him  in  sore  despair, 
Ne'er  sight  more  sad,  nor  scene  more  fair. 
A  hunted  look  overwhelms  those  lucid  eyes. 
The  light  of  youth  and  joy  within  them  dies. 
Another  step,  he  stretches  forth  liis  hand. 
But  she  resolves  to  leave  this  weary  land 
That  destiny  to  her  had  made  so  sad, 
Had  marred  a  life  that  might  have  been  so  glad. 
Plunged  down  into  the  welcome  stream, 
Peneus,  whose  waves  her  cradle  song  had  been. 
The  Fates  in  pity  freed  her  from  all  care. 
She  vanished — and  behold  a  laurel  there ! 

MeHhyr,  F.  E.  L^ 


REMINISCENCES  OF  CWMTWRCH. 


An   ALLECiORY. 


Thore  lies  on  tlie  north-west  side  of  Carmarthensliire  a 
narrow  strip  of  wild,  mountainous  land,  where  the  tourist's  foot 
has  seldom  trod,  and  where  the  English  language  was  never 
heard,  except  through  the  highly  refracting  medium  of  the 
Scotch  pack-man,  tea-man,  book  hawker,  and  Blackie's  agent 
all  in  one.  This  character  will  demand  our  attention  by-and-bye. 
It  is  bounded  on  the  south  by  Tref  Goch  Gymru,  towards  the 
setting  sun  by  Hofftcyttand  Lampeter  mountain,  on  the  north 
by  Carreg-y-Bwcci,  and  on  the  east  byPwlluffern  Gothi.  It  is 
some  seven  miles  by  five,  and  of  rhomboidal  shape ;  with  its 
longer  diagonal  reaching  from  ^laestroiddyn,  the  home  of 
Koger  Williams,  of  American  renown,  to  the  lonely  Baptist 
Chapel  of  Bwlch-y-rhiw.  This  north-eastern  boundary  is  the 
wildest,  least  explored,  and  most  terrifically  awe-inspiring  spot 
in  all  Wales.  Vulcan,  the  subterranean  schoolmaster,  once 
u^jon  a  time  gave  a  holiday  to  his  scholars,  the  volcanoes  and 
earth-quakes  and  other  students  of  Tartarus,  and  in  their 
first  outbm'st  of  youthful  passion  and  joy,  they  began  to  play 

Sitch  and  toss  and  all  kinds  of  mad  freaks  with  sober  dame 
i^ature,  and  hurled  decades  of  mountains  into  the  high  welkin 
higgledy-piggledy,  topsy-turvy,  and  here  they  lie  ever  since 
across  each  other  in  the  most  admired  disorder,  and  it  will  take 
the  tidy  and  methodical  maids  of  nature  some  sixty  million 
years  to  re-arrange  in  their  places  the  mountainous  confusion 
worse  confounded  of  this  locality.  It  is  Ystradfellte  Ciives, 
Llanberis  Pass,  Bedd  Gelert,  Bettws-y-Coed,  Nant-y-Ffrancon, 
Llanrhaiadr  Mochnant  combined  and  intensified.  Once  upon  a 
time  an  impassioned  and  an  infatuated  river  attempted  to  gain 
the  sea  through  this  ruined  abode,  and,  as  was  to  be  expected, 
fell  headlong  to  Pwlluffem  Gothi,  and  there  it  is  to  this  day, 
foaming  and  frothing  like  the  "  Fall  of  Lodore,"  and 
comminuting  and  pulverising  itself  amongst  the  rocks.  The 
north-western  gales  from  Carreg-y-Bwcci  would  have  blown  it 
long  ago  to  the  Baptist  Chapel  at  Bwlch-y-rhiw,  and  not  a 
bubble  on  its  bosom  would  have  ever  reached  the  sea,  if  it  were 


REMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTWBCH.  321 

not  for  the  constant  care  and  solicitude  of  the  thousand  and 
one  many-tinted  rainbows  that  embrace  the  frightened  atoms 
of  its  many  cataracts.  But  this  sublime  perseverance  of  ages 
is  grand  and  soul-stimulating ;  a  noble  purpose  unswervingly 
adhered  to  through  most  tremendous  difficulties. 

There  are  airy  crags,  and  b:\rren  rocks,  and  lonely  basins 
abounding  in  this  region — fitting  platforms  for  a  Grod-defying 
Cain,  or  despair-tortured  Prometheus,  or  heart-broken, 
bewildered  Hamlet,  or  remorse-consumed  Othello,  to  soliloquise 
the  setting  sun,  the  eternal  too  late,  the  spirit  of  irreparable 
miscliief,  or  the  grandeur  of  unconquerable  fidelity,  which  no 
temptation  could  seduc?.  Just  where  the  river  Cothi  nerves 
itself  for  the  final  plunge  into  the  Hell  Pool — possibly  an 
old  Roman  shaft — the  writer  has  a  most  vivid  recollection,  after 
climbing  up  to  rob  a  pigeon's  nest  on  one  of  those  crags 
that  overhangs  the  viewless  river  booming  in  the  dark  caverns 
beneath,  that,  in  returning,  which  was  incomparably  the  more 
difficult  feat,  the  stones  began  to  give  way  under  his  feet, 
and  the  loose  shingle  to  drop  like  hailstones  into  the  black 
depths,  awaking  the  echoes  sepulchral ;  and  when  he  began  to 
slide  down  along  with  them  and  caught  one  instant  glim^^se  of 
the  ebony  waters  some  200  feet  below — no,  I  cannot  go  on — there 
is  a  creeping  i)aralysis  spreading  over  the  whole  surface  of 
the  body,  the  scalp  moves,  the  cold,  clammy  dew  settles  on 
the  temples,  and  consciousness  bids  "good  night"  at  the  very 
thought,  even  at  the  distance  of  thirty  rolling  suns  from  that 
ever  harrowing  moment.  And  my  companion  of  that  expedition 
avers  that  whenever  the  exclamation,  "  Dycco  Dai  yn  myn'd," 
passes  like  a  horrid  shadow  across  his  memory,  his  eyes  shut 
involuntarily,  and  he  gasps  for  breatli. 

Well,  within  the  boundaries  named,  there  was  neither  a 
town  nor  a  village  worthy  the  name.  Some  three  cottages  formed 
the  largest  village  in  the  neighbourhood.  A  shop,  a  tavern, 
and  a  smithy,  and  you  behold  the  metropolis.  It  is  an 
agricultural  district,  with  numberless  sheep  of  the  small  breed 
scattered  over  the  mountains.  Tliere  are  dozens  of  houses 
where  an  inch  of  coal  was  never  burnt,  nor  even  seen.  The 
peat  harvest  in  June  is  of  more  importance  here  than  the  corn 
harvest  in  September,  and  the  cultivation  of  fern  is  a  cause  of 
greater  anxiety  to  the  inhabitants  than  that  of  the  hay,  the 
fern  being  man's  shelter  and  beasts'  food  at  once.  The  swaths 
of  hay  across  the  meadows  can  be  easily  traced  for  at  least  five 
years  as  distinctly  as  if  the  fields  had  been  mown  only  a  month 
before.  The  narrow  dingles,  through  which  run  numerous  brook- 
lets, full  of  pink-breasted  minnows,  w^ere  sub-divided  into  small 
tenements  from  about  20  to  70  acres  each.  And  considering 
that  there  is  neither  a  town  nor  mineral  works  of  any  kind  here, 

V 


322  REMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTWRCH. 

it  is  more  densely  [wpulated  than  any  district  of  equal  size  we 
know  of  in  Wales. 

The  youth  of  every  locality  are  drawn  to  that  avocation  in 
life  which  affords  employment  to  the  majority  of  the  iK)pala- 
tion — the  rising  generation  of  seaix)rt  towns  becomes  se<ifaring, 
in  the  coal  and  iron  districts  they  flock  underground  and  to  the 
forge,  and  near  great  military  stations  the  soldier's  life  offers 
great  attractions.  And  here,  also,  the  same  law  holds  good  :  the 
ambition  and  delight  of  all  the  youngsters  of  the  neighbour- 
hood -  farmers'  boys  and  farm  servants — was  to  proceed  from 
cattle-driving  to  cattle-dealing.  The  envied  employment  here 
was  driving  small  black  cattle  from  the  Welsh  fairs  to  England, 
and  the  apprenticeship  of  the  country  bumpkin  was  not 
complete  until  Barnet  September  fair  was  reached  and 
experienced.  Tlien  ho  was,  on  his  return,  immediately 
transmogrified  into  an  admired  hero  in  the  eyes  of  the 
untravelled  swains  and  lasses  at  home.  He  stood  to  the 
ploughboy,  who  had  never  lost  sight  of  the  smoke  of  his 
grandmother's  cottage,  in  the  same  exalted  relation  as  an 
eisteddfod ic  chaired  bard  does  to  the  wondering  literati  who 
begin  to  spell  their  "  Reading  made  easies,"  and  feel  the 
incipient  promptings  of  the  rhyming  god  ;  or  the  S.  D.  C.*8 
coveted  ca])  and  gown  to  the  rustic  Lid  that  frequents  I^ampeter 
fairs.  Cattle  dealers  were  the  most  respectable  and  prosperous 
body  in  this  community,  and  so  every  one  felt  inclined  to  try 
his  hand  at  cattle  dealing.  The  few  successes  were  more  than 
a  match  for  the  numerous  failures.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  the 
gambling  element  in  human  nature  asserted  its  sway,  with  the 
usual  Monaco  results  to  hearts  and  pockets.  The  black  ox  had 
been  the  source  of  wealth  to  all  who  were  in  easy  circumstances, 
and  stood  as  the  cornucopia  of  the  would-be  millionaires* 
Coal  and  iron  are  the  never  ending  absorbents  of  thought  and 
ambition  in  Glamorganshire,  and  one  is  deafened  with  the 
blasting  of  slate  quarries  in  Carnarvonshire ;  education  is  the 
peasant's  dream  in  Cardiganshire,  but  the  black  ox  was  the  lord 
of  this  realm.  And  in  profound  sympathy  with  this  telling 
fact  of  all  nations,  the  Welsh  jmtriotic  educationist  and 
statesman  aims  to  benefit  his  own  people  by  founding  a 
University  for  Wales,  to  act  educationally  on  the  nation 
as  Barnet  cattle  fair  on  the  youngsters  of  Llanycrwys,  to 
create  a  national  enthusiasm  for  education ;  to  rouse  the 
Welshman  to  see  the  world,  .and  try  conclusions  with  other 
nationalities ;  to  thicken  his  skin  and  mitigate  his  self 
consciousness,  and  create  in  him  a  due  self-respect. 

There  is  neither  a  British,  nor  Roman,  nor  Saxon,  nor 
Norman  castle ;  nor  a  single,  or  triple  circumvallated  camp^ 
nor  even  a  Druidic  hypa^thral  temple  in  this  arcadian  spot, 
though    the    Hirfaen    and    Cyttiau'r    Gwyddelod  lie   on   the 


EEMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTWRCH.  323 

north-west,  and  Gogofau,  the  Roman  gold  mines,  on  the  south, 
but  the  interior  is  a  tabula  rasa  to  the  antiquarian.      This 
absence  of  antiquarian  remains  speaks  volumes  in   favour  of 
this  district  as  to  their  moral  and  animal  courage  and  religious 
views.     These  castles,  of  which  some  weak-minded  people  are 
so  proud,  are  simply  the  symbols  of  our  national  defacement, 
which,  happily,  do  not  exist  in  this  neighbourhood,  and  the 
inhabitants  point  at  this  blank   void   with  justifiable   pride. 
They  are  an  unconquered  and  an  undispensationed  remnant, 
where  the   last  accents   of  our  mellifluous   language  will  be 
heard,  and  most  probably  amongst  the  descendants  of  Daniel 
Hafod-dorddu.     There  is  a  Roman  road  here  in  a  good  state  of 
preservation — the  pavement  perfect,  at  least  it  was  so  the  last 
time  I  rounded  Llyn  Twrch,  through  driving  snow,  in  quest  of 
wild  ducks,  shouldering  a  long  flint  musket,  a  relic  of  Waterloo. 
I  buoyed  myself  up  for  years  with  the  dreams  of  attaining 
great  renown  some  day  by  springing  upon  an  astonished  country 
an  account  of  the  enormous  heaps  of  stones  on  Craig  Twrch 
which  I  used  to  play  amongst  when  a  lad.  I  knew  they  embodied 
a  great  mystery  only  known  to  me,  and  which  I  intended  to 
reveal  in  due  time,  when,  to  my  utter  discomfiture,  I  found 
one  day,  some  twelve  months  ago,  that  the  Revs.  D.  R.  Thomas, 
of  Meifod,  and  Chidlow,  of  Cayo — those  two  inveterate  poachers 
into  other  people's  antiquarian  preserves — had  come  across  them, 
and  divulged  my  early  Celtic  and  pre-historic   secrets  to  the 
world  in  the  pages  of  the  Archceologia  CambrensiSy  without 
apology  or  compunction. 

This  district  was  not  burdened  or  overwhelmed  with   any 
nobleman's   or    plutocrat's   mansions,   and   thus    happily    the 
unsophisticated     agriculturists     were    neither    corrupted    nor 
enfeebled  by  high  civilisation,  social  polish  and  culture,  which 
are   so  highly   prized    in    some    portions    of    Her    Majesty's 
dominions.     The  people  are  all  equal;  they  belong  to  one  class; 
**  Jack  is  as  good   as   his  master,"   here.     (Jamekeepers  and 
river  preservers  and  other  vermin  never  troubled  the  country,  and 
accordingly  there  was  no  room  for  educating  the  consciousness 
of  poaching;  all  hunted,  and  sported,  and  fished  without  let  or 
hindrance.     The  preservation  of  game  was  not  heard  o£     It 
took  twenty  years  to  convince  the  writer  of  the  illegality  of 
poaching ;  the  very  word  was  not  in  his  vocabulary  until  years 
after  some  dear  pledges  had  been  given  to  fortune.     The  crack 
shots  were  John  Bryncrach,  Twm  o'r  Cwm,  Ivan  Tanyfron,  and 
the  Rhydydefaid  boys.    And  David  Calvarin  the  less  was  the  only 
great  fisherman  within  miles  around ;  once  upon  a  time,  it  is 
said,  Deio  caught  a  monster  eel,  which  squealed  like  a  porker, 
and,  to  the  consternation  of  his  mother,  gyrated  in  the  frying 
pan.     Some  angled,  some  netted,  but  Deio  groped.     Fish  and 
game  were  not  preserved  in  those  days,  and  there  was  an 

V  2 


324  REMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTT/V^BCH. 

abundance  of  both  at  all  times.  The  game  is  now  strictly 
preserved  and  has  almost  become  extinct.  The  country 
squires  are  the  real  exterminators  of  the  game.  They  have  been 
hiring  fur  years,  rogues,  at  eighteen  shillings  a  week,  under  the 
euphemism  of  gixmekeepers,  with  the  fond  delusion  that  they 
were  platonio  in  their  love  of  game  and  greed  for  gold.  The 
farmers  grew  indifferent  and  sullen,  and  the  game  grew 
beautifully  less  ;  and  innocent  people  wondered  why. 

By-the-bye,  rabbits  are  a  political  power.  They  are  pioneers 
and  propiigandists  of  veiled  democracy.  Under  the  ballot  you 
may  whistle  for  any  vote  in  favour  of  the  landlord  who  preser\'es 
rabbits  without  compensation  to  the  tenant.  Every  living  thing 
that  consumes  the  grass  or  the  com  of  the  farmer  ought  to 
belong  to  the  farmer.  jNIorality  would  stand  higher,  the  taxes 
lower,  and  the  expenses  of  law  enormously  reduced,  if  the  game 
were  handed  over  to  the  farmer.  Let  the  tenant  and  his  land- 
lord be  on  equal  footing  in  this  resi>ect.  It  would  immensely 
benefit  both ;  it  would  teach  humanity  to  the  one,  and  round  off 
the  angularities  of  the  other,  and  create  good  fellowship  all 
round.  It  is  monstrous  that  a  man  without  an  acre  of  land 
should  come  across  country  and  rent  what  is  called  the  game, 
and  then  alienate  the  tenant's  heart  from  the  landlord's,  whose 
interests  are  identical,  by  keeping  a  gang  of  idle  ruffians  to 
annoy  the  honesc  and  industrious  cultivators  of  the  soil. 

The  chief  singer  was  David  Kichards,  Bryncrach,  the  father  of 
the  crack  shot  already  named.  He  was  a  peripatetic  teacher  of 
concerted  music  according  to  a  system  then  much  in  vogue,  but 
no  longer  recognised  in  the  highest  musical  circles.  He  never 
saw  a  piano,  or  even  a  harmonium,  in  his  life ;  these  to  him,  and 
to  the  deacons  of  the  chapels  that  he  frequented,  were  rank 
Popery.  His  musical  vade-niecum  and  fetish  was  the  pitchfork 
which  he  struck  on  his  knee,  while  his  teeth  acted  as  sounding 
board.  He  was  not,  perhaps,  Peiicerdd  Gwalia^  but  he  was 
facile  princeps  within  a  radius  of  three  miles  of  Bryncrach,  and 
this  is  by  no  means  a  common-i:)lace  eulogy,  when  the  musical 
talents  of  that  neighboiurhood  are  taken  into  account.  There 
were  no  eisteddlodic  competitions  in  his  day — they  are  of  later 
growth,  the  hot-bed  productions  of  a  restless,  innovating  age* 
All  the  anthems  and  "jpu'Tics "  in  which  his  soul  delighted 
were  the  offspring  of  the  chapel  "go"  and  the  esprit  de  corps 
of  the  rival  denominations.  These  revivals  of  music  and  Scripture 
performances  that  pervaded  the  Dissenting  bodies  some  forty 
years  ago  deserve  a  chapter  to  themselves.  Many  of  their 
leaders,  like  leuan  Gwyllt  and  others,  deplored  the  irreligiousnets 
and  frivolity  of  the  movement;  and  hence  their  efforts  to 
counteract  it  by  introducing  good,  sober  congregational  singings 
much  more  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  our  religion,  than 
the  wild  anthems  and  the  wilder  theology  of  the  "pynciau** 


REMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTWRCH.  32,3 

in  which  Richards  of  Bryncrach  disported,  and  spent  a  life-time 
in  teaching  to  the  servant  boys  and  girls  of  that  neighbourhood. 
Nevertlieless  there  was  in  it  a  soul  of  goodness ;  it  kept  some  of 
them   at   least   from  something  worse. 

Dissent, like  most  things  human, has  two  aspects, good  and  bad. 
I  know  both  well.  I  am  partly  the  product  of  both  ;  with  some 
strong  streams  flowing  in,  in  after  life.  But  reminiscences, 
and  not  self-analysis,  is  our  business.  The  knowledge  that  I 
gained  at  the  Baptist  Sunday  School — faulty  in  every  sense 
though  it  was,  from  want  of  good  teachers,  system  and  doctrine — 
was  of  as  much  service  to  mo  in  my  last  theological  examination 
before  Connop  Thirlwall  as  anything  that  I  gained  subsequently. 
I  acquired  then  a  knowledge  of  Scripture  facts.  No  man  can 
be  an  independent  thinker  on  theological  questions  without  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  Scripture.  This  is  the  foundation  of 
scientific  divinity.  The  value  of  any  i)lausible  doctrine  that  is 
presented  to  the  mind  can  be  immediately  gauged  by  minute 
and  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  written  word.  Without 
this  we  must  remain  the  dupes  of  the  vagaries  of  doctrinal 
empiricism.  David  Richards'  right-hand  men — women,  I  should 
have  said — who  could  march  anywhere,  and  accomplish  anything, 
were  the  doughty  daughters  of  Escercorn,  unquestionably 
j)ossessed  of  great  natural  talents,  which  were  trained  aft^r  a 
fashion  by  this  perambulating  musical  box  through  the  medium 
of  the  ear  alone,  for  none  of  them  could  read  a  note  of  music. 
In  what  a  new  world  of  thoughts  and  discoveries  we  have 
lived  since  then — what  an  antediluvian  figure  he  seems  to  our 
day.  His  knowledge  and  his  mode  belong  to  a  remote  past. 
He  wore  a  tail  coat,  under  which  he  canied  his  left  arm. 
Standing  perfectly  erect  when  sounding  the  key-note  to  the 
air — treble  it  was  then  called — and  then  bending  down  lower  and 
lower,  until  he  came  to  the  bass,  when  his  chin,  and  knee,  and 
tail-coat,  and  right  arm  and  pitchfork  became  all  on  the  same 
level,  and  the  signal  for  the  grand  performance  was  given.  To 
open  one's  mouth  and  to  pronounce  distinctly  the  words  in 
singing  were  David's  aversion.  This  was  an  unpardonable 
vulgarity  which  he  could  not  tolerate. 

The  champion  wrestler  was  Thomas  Ochorbryn,  the  swiftest 
runner  was  Jack,  surnamed  "  Y  Crydd  Grwyllt,"  and  the  facile 
pHiiceps  amongst  the  leapers  and  vaulters  was  Price 
Rhydfendigaid,  now  an  accomplished  singer  as  well.  The 
dreaded  pugilists  w^ere  Dai  Saer  y  Gwt  and  the  twin  brothers  of 
Blaenrhysglog.  These  men  were  the  pioneers  of  athletic  s^iorts, 
which  I  hold  to  be  so  essential  to  body,  mind  and  morals.  I 
am  a  worshipper  of  muscle,  and,  in  many  cases,  believe  that  a 
little  castigation,  such  as  could  and  was  administered  on  fittitLa 
occasions  by  the  Blaenrhysglog  brothers,  ia  a  iivote  Ae^^ett^\i\*  «Ml 
wholesome  mode  ^of  punishment  than  t\ie  mftictVon  oi  %xkfc%n 


326  REMINISCENCES    OF   CWMl^'^RCH. 

which  create  so  much  bad  blood  in  our  courts  of  law.  To  the 
exercises  which  I  treated  myself  to,  in  emulation  and  admiration 
of  Mr.  T.  Price,  I  attribute  the  prolongation  of  my  health 
thus  far,  and  a  ft^w  other  things  which  do  not  fall  within  the 
scope  of  our  reminiscences.  An  adept  at  Greek  Iambics  with 
sinewless  anus  and  calfless  legs  is  a  contemptible  object  in  my 
sight.  The  arms  of  precision  will  drop  from  the  ner\'eless  grasp 
of  a  nation  grown  effeminate  through  want  of  due  encourage- 
ment to  athletic  exercises.  "  San<i  mens  in  sano  corpore^  is 
no  less  Christian  than  classical.  We  cannot  produce  great  men 
in  the  highest  walks  of  life  without  a  strong  physical  basis. 
The  Puritanical  denunciation  of  athletic  sports  was  very 
detrimental  to  the  svunnetrical  development  of  the  nation. 
\\  hat  a  melancholy  echo  of  past  ignorance  and  bigotry  was  that 
hue  and  cry  of  C'alvinistic  Cardiganshire  against  the  Principal 
of  Aberystwith  College  for  countenancing  the  boyish  g;imes 
indulged  in  by  tlu?  students.  I  hope  the  nmsculiur  religion  of 
the  Principal  will  drive  out  such  feeble,  molluscous,  and  effete 
Christianity  from  the  county. 

Will  Llewelyn  was  a  wonderful  character.  He  was  a  shoe- 
maker  by  trade  ;  but  the  lapstone  was  Will's  greatest  aversion. 
Nancy,  his  wife,  used  to  cultivate  all  the  flax  needed  on  the 
Waenlwyd,  and  it  was  carded  and  spun  at  home,  and  the  white 
pig  that  fed  on  water  and  lizards  supplied  the  bristles.  Will 
was  also  a  crier  and  bidder.  In  this  art  and  calling  Will 
excelled.  To  cry  goods  on  Sunday  and  invite  to  biddings  and 
weddings  and  funerals  on  week  days  were  Will's  delight  and 
masterpieces.  It  was  in  the  Ikiptist  Chapel,  on  the  galler}> 
after  the  sonnon,  that  Will  used  to  perform;  and  he  had  a 
considerable  following.  Will  stood  up,  as  soon  as  the  "  Amen" 
after  the  sermon  was  heard,  and  then  sales  at  the  different 
farm  houses,  local  fairs,  weddings,  Inddings,  funerals,  cirru* 
bachy  sheep,  donkeys,  dogs  and  colts,  stray ers,  the  meet  of 
Lloyd  of  Brunent's  hounds,  the  rent,  audit  of  Ix>rd  Cawdor 
and  the  Court  Leet,  &c.,  rushed  forth  like  a  veritable  Niagara 
out  of  his  mouth ;  and  Spurgeon  or  the  Kector  of  Merthyr  would 
have  been  only  too  glad  to  possess  his  lungs  at  second-hand ; 
and  the  Dowlais  Company  might  do  worse  than  purchase  his 
larynx  for  a  hooter  in  their  steel  works.  He  was  unrivalled  as 
a  bidder  also.  He  walked  some  thousands  of  miles  across 
country  to  announce  biddings  and  funerals.  He  would  call  at 
every  house  and  repeat  the  same  story  in  one  breath  for  about 
twenty  minutes.  His  lungs  and  memory  were  inexhaustible. 
There  was  a  dinner  to  be  had  in  some  places,  and  only  a  crust 
of  bread  and  cheese  in  others ;  his  knowledge  of  this  fact 
regulated  Will's  time  and  calls.  It  is  not  on  record  that  he 
came  home  8ol)er  from  any  wedding  with  the  exception  of  Jacki 
Bwlchgwyntj  for  a  niece  of  grist\e  st\ieV\\i\v\?»\>\^o^V\\>alday^ 


REMINISCENCES    OF    CVVMTWRCH.  327 

and  for  more  than  an  hour  he  hovered  over  the  world  eternal, 
while  Nancy,  his  wife,  made  violent  efforts  to  conceal  her 
transpoi'ts  at  the  prospect  of  a  speedy  release  from  the 
matrimonial  yoke  which  Will  had  so  unevenly  borne.  I  heard 
that  he  had  some  serious  thoughts  before  his  final  exit  from  the 
stage,  and  that  he  was  immersed  in  the  Dolegwynion  river  by 
one  John  Davies*  a  minister  of  the  Baptist  persuasion  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

There  was  no  church  from  the  banks  of  the  Teifi  to  Twm 
Sion  Catti's  caves.  And  here  there  were  scores  of  families,  from 
the  grand-parent  to  the  grand-child,  that  never  saw  a  clergyman 
of  the  Church  of  England,  except  at  weddings.  But  every 
cottage  and  homestead  were  frecjuented  by  the  preachers  of  rival 
denominations.  It  was  the  hunting  ground  of  Nonconformity. 
The  Rev.  David  Lewis,  Glyncelyn,  near  Llandilo-fawr,  was  the 
Vicar  of  Llanycrwys  during  my  younger  days.  He  had  some 
thirteen  miles  to  come  every  Sunday,  when  the  weather  per- 
mitted. Mr.  Lewis  was  a  kind,  gentlemanly  parson,  yet  none  of 
the  jiarishioners  troubled  him,  with  the  honourable  exception  of 
Nancy  Penypoenyn  and  her  son,  Deio.  There  ought  to  have 
been  at  least  three  churches  in  the  upper  part  of  the  parish  of 
Cayo — one  in  Cwm  Pedol,  one  in  Cwmtwrch,  and  one  in  Cwm 
Rhysglog.  The  tithes  of  the  parish  are  ample  to  endow  the 
three  without  de[)riving  the  Mother  Church  of  one  shilling.  And 
we  feel  certain  that  no  three  churches  in  the  Principality  would 
have  been  better  attended  in  proportion  to  population.  Dissent 
has  been  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting  ;  the  husks 
of  party  politics  do  not  siitisfy  the  cravings  of  the  soul. 

But  we  must  retrace  our  steps  to  our  recollections.  Within 
the  boundaries  of  this  district  there  are  and  have  been  some 
wonderful  characters,  from  Will  Bryntieling  up,  or  down,  to  the 
wizards  of  Cwrtycadno.  There  is  no  spot  in  Wales  which  has 
produced  so  many  wonderful  characters  —wonderful  I  say,  not 
great,  or  good,  or  learned.  A  Prime  Minister,  a  TiOrd  Chancellor, 
an  Archbishop,  a  millionaire,  a  dictator,  a  discoverer  of  new 
continents  and  new  planets  has  not  honoured  this  locality  with 
his  first  breath.  Neither  was  born  here  an  inventor  of 
telescopes,  or  miners'  lamps,  or  gunj^owder,  or  a  penny  stamp  per- 
forator, or  telegraph,  or  mariner's  compass,  or  printing  press,  or 
a  steam  engine,  or  a  spectroscope,  or  reaping  and  sewing  machines, 
and  no  balloonist,  or  rope-dancer,  or  eater  of  red-hot  pokers 
has  sprung  from  here ;  and  none  of  the  inhabitants  have  frozen 
round  the  Pole,  or  shot  an  albatross  in  the  South  Pacific,  nor 
hurrahed  on  the  top  of  Hindu  Cash,  nor  drank  at  the  fountains  of 
the  Nile,  nor  composed  an  '*  Iliad  "  or  a  "  Paradise  Lost," or  dis- 
covered the  circulation  of  the  blood  and  vaccination,  or  the 
fertilisation  of  orchids,  or  why  the  turkey  displa^^  Vv\&  ieaStkKr^ 
discs,  and    a    thousand  other  things  of  a  \\ke  ti^^x«^»  X^^. 


328  EEMTXISCEXCES    OF   CWMTWRCH, 

after  all,  there  is  not  a  spot  in  Cymru  Wen  which  has  produced 
so  many  remarkable  chanictei*s.  It  is  said  that  nothiDg 
of  first-rate  importance  has  ever  taken  place  in  the  history 
of  mankind  without  a  Welshman  having  a  hand  in  it.  Welsh- 
men are  the  makers  of  history.  Tht^  prophecy  of  IMerlin  had 
fixed  on  some  son  of  the  soil  at  Tilanycrwys  as  the  discoverer 
of  the  perpetual  motion  and  the  squarer  of  the  circle,  and 
an  honest  weaver  of  the  place  believed  to  his  dying  day  that 
he  was  the  man  of  destiny,  and  by  his  efforts  to  verify  the 
prognostications  he  succeeded  in  becoming  a  clock  cleaner. 
"  The  hand  of  the  diligent  maketh  rich."  *' Aim  at  a  gown  of 
gold  and  you  may  get  a  sleeve  of  it."  Yn  nihob  Uafur  y 
mnae  Ihvi/ddlanty  ac  yn  onhoh  fjwaith  y  mae  elw. 

Heaps  of  sclioolmasters  liave  swarmed  from  this  region,  and  a 
great  company  of  preachers,  some  four  parsons  unknown  to  fame, 
one  Baptist  missionary  to  China,  a  surgeon  or  two,  and  an 
attoniey  ;  but  cattle  dealers  were  tlie  great  majority  of  the 
ambitious  rising  generation  some  40  years  ago.  The  famous 
preachers  of  tlie  neighbourhood  were  Dr.  William  Davies,  native 
of  Llofftcyfi  :  Dr.  Kvan  Davies,  Swansea,  born  at  (lelliithe  Rev. 
J.  Kilsby  Jones,  bred  at  Krwyon,  and  W.  Thomas,  of  Dryslwyn. 
There  appeared  another  passing  luminary,  T.  Thomas,  of  Tanlan, 
but  we  know  nothing  of  him  save  wluit  the  needle-witted  David 
Evans,  of  Erwau,  said  to  him  once,  *"  That  he  was  lying  in  bed  one 
half  of  the  year  to  concoct  the  scandals  that  he  swittered  during 
the  other."  Kilsbv  Jones  used  to  sav  of  Dr.  William  Davies  that 
his  forehead  would  have  been  an  acquisition  to  Solon,  but  that 
DaiV  Enwyn  would  not  plead  guilty  to  his  mouth  ;  that  his 
forehead  would  grace  Royal  ])alaces,  but  the  fitting  place  for  the 
residue  of  his  countenance  was  the  back  kitchen  at  IJofftcyff.  It 
was  a  common  belief  of  the  populace,  from  Llansawel  to  Carreg- 
y-Bwcci,  and  from  Park-y-Rhos  to  (iundwn  Ma wr,  that  Dr.  Davies 
was  an  adept  at  conjuring  and  profoundly  versed  in  the  black 
arts,  that  he  could  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep,  and  that 
he  was  master  of  languages  innumerable.  Will,  the  jolly  miller 
of  Rhosybedw,  placed  his  horoscopical  attainments  somewhat 
under  a  cloud  by  putting  a  hairy  hand  on  one  of  Dr.  Davies's 
pigs,  and  he  failed  to  divine  the  whereabouts  of  the  s(juealer.  Will 
chuckled  ever  afterwards  when  plough  boys  and  deacons  talked 
mysteriously  about  the  divining  rods  of  learned  scholars.  And 
the  languages  mastered  were  not  sc^  numerous  either  as  Deio'r 
School  used  to  attribute  to  Dr.  Harries  Jones,  of  Trefecca,  viz., 
seventy,  and  that  he  had  written  a  book  which  only 
two  men  in  the  United  Kingdom  were  competent  to 
criticise,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  someone  else, 
whose  name  Deio  could  not  recollect  at  the  time.  I  remember 
that  the  Dominie's  memory  was  not  always  perfect.  By  this 
Deio'r  School  I  do  not  refer  at    all  to  David  Davies,  stone- 


EEMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTWRCH.  329 

cutter,  and  schoolmaster  at  Ffaldybrenin,  a  downright  nice 
fellow,  who  did  an  immense  deal  of  good  in  his  native  place. 
Peace  be  to  his  bones,  respect  to  his  memory,  and  prosperity  to 
his  children.  But  one  Deio'r  School,  a  huge,  bulky,  hirsute, 
cadaverous,  Calvinistic  pedagogue,  driving  cattle  in  summer  and 
vexing  little  children  in  winter.  We  remember  about  fourteen 
schoolmasters  successively  plying  the  trade  of  teaching  the 
young  ideas  how  to  shoot  in  this  district,  located  in  the  stable 
loft  at  Ffaldybrenin,  and  in  ditto  at  Bethel.  Tom  Ajax  was  one 
of  these  notorieties.  The  English  which  he  imparted  to  his 
sulvjects  in  winter  he  acijuired  by  twisting  the  tail  of  the  black 
ox  in  England  in  the  summer.  He  was  a  firm  believer  in  the 
efficacy  of  the  virtuous  birch,  and  practical  demonstrations  of  his 
belief  were  by  no  means  unfrequent.  There  was  a  hay-rick  of 
Twm  Rili's  in  one  corner  of  his  cock-loft,  the  produce  of  the 
chapel-yard,  and  his  tiny  subjects  ever  and  anon  were  climbing 
to  the  top  of  it.  The  Ajax  used  to  birch  them  for 
going  up,  and  birch  them  for  coming  down  again. 
He  was  tlie  Dominie  of  the  Bethel  loft.  His  rival 
and  contemporary  at  the  Flaldybrenin  *'  lofty "  academy 
was  Daniel  Tybach.  The  jealousies  of  these  rival  lofts  kept  the 
neighbourhood  in  continual  turmoil  and  threatened  at  one  time 
to  end  tragically  enough.  The  accumulation  of  animal  matter 
in  the  stables  beneath  bade  fair  once  to  depopulate  the  district ; 
it  originated  a  virulent  form  of  scarlatina,  and  imperilled  the 
revenues  of  the  Dominies,  who  indicted  each  other  with  this 
shameful  neglect  of  sanitary  precautions.  The  simultaneous 
breaking  out  of  the  fatal  disense  amongst  the  children  of  two 
contiguous  cottages  which  patronised  the  rival  institutions  made 
it  difficult  for  the  [)etticoat  students  of  therapeutics  to  give  a 
just  judgment  on  the  amount  of  responsibility  incurred  by  the 
rival  and  now  impoverished  ])rincipals,  and  this  became  a 
source  of  endless  wranglings  and  heartburnings,  and  divided 
the  poj)ulace  into  two  mutually  recriminating  factions. 
Here  we  are  on  a  vast  field  of  interesting  reminiscences  and 
contrasts.  The  progress  of  elementary  education  and  the 
inconsistencies  of  popular  agitators.  I  remember  well  that  soon 
after  tliis  scarlet  fever  imbroglio  the  Methodists,  Baptists,  and 
Independents  met  together  to  fix  on  some  convenient  and 
central  spot  for  a  school.  The  land  was  granted  by  a  small  free- 
hold(»r,  Evans,  Dolegwynion,  hedged  off,  drained,  made  ready  for 
the  building,  in  fine,  everything  was  going  on  amicably  and 
prosperously  until  certain  agitators  came  to  the  neighbourhood, 
convened  meetings,  delivered  inflammatory  harangues,  denounced 
in  unmeasured  terms  all  Government  grants  as  base,  insidious, 
Jesuitical  attempts  on  the  part  of  the  men  then  in  power  to 
seduce,  under  the  false  glitter  of  monetary  grants,  all  our  poor  chil- 
dren to  downright  Roman  Catholicism.  They  threw  fire  into  this 


328  REMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTWECH. 

after  all,  there  is  not  a  spot  in  Cyinrii  Wen  which  has  produced 
so  many  remarkable  characters.  It  is  said  that  nothiDg 
of  first-rate  im|)ortance  has  ever  taken  place  in  the  history 
of  mankind  without  a  Welshman  having  a  hand  in  it.  Welsh- 
men are  the  makers  of  history.  Tlu»  prophecy  of  Merlin  had 
fixed  on  some  son  of  the  soil  at  Llanycrwys  as  the  discoverer 
of  the  ])erpetual  motion  and  the  sijiiarer  of  the  circle,  and 
an  honest  weaver  of  the  place  believed  to  his  dying  day  that 
he  was  the  man  of  destiny,  and  bv  his  efforts  to  verify  the 
prognostications  he  succeeded  in  becjoming  a  clock  cleaner. 
**  Tlie  hand  of  the  diligent  maketh  rich."  "Aim  at  a  gown  of 
gold  and  you  may  get  a  sleeve  of  it."  Yn  nihob  llafur  y 
'tnae  Ihri/ddiaiit,  ac  yn  'inhob  givaith  y  viae  elw. 

Heaps  of  schoolmasters  have  swarmed  from  this  region,  and  a 
great  company  of  preachers,  some  four  parsons  unknown  to  fame, 
one  Baptist  missionary  to  China,  a  surgeon  or  two,  and  an 
attorney  ;  but  cattle  dealers  were  tlu*  great  majority  of  the 
ambitious  rising  generation  some  40  yenrs  ago.  The  famous 
preachers  of  tlieneighbourliood  were  Dr.  William  Davies,  native 
of  lilofftcyft";  Dr.  Evan  Davies,  Swansea,  born  at  Greili ;  the  Rev. 
J.  Kilsby  Jones,  bn»d  at  Erwyon,  and  W.  Thomas,  of  Dryslwyn. 
There  appeared  another  passing  luminary,  T.Thomas,  of  Tanlan, 
but  we  know  nothing  of  him  save  what  the  needle-witted  David 
Evans,  of  Erwau,  said  to  him  once, "  Tliat  he  was  lying  in  bed  one 
half  of  the  year  to  concoct  the  scandals  that  he  scattered  during 
the  other."  Kilsby  Jones  used  to  say  of  Dr.  William  Davies  that, 
his  forehead  would  have  been  an  acquisition  to  Solon,  but  that 
Dai'r  Enwyn  would  not  i)lead  guilty  to  his  mouth  ;  that  his 
forehead  would  grace  Ko\'al  palaces,  but  the  fitting  place  for  the 
residue  of  his  countenance  was  the  back  kitchen  at  LlofftcyfF.  It 
was  a  common  belief  of  the  populace,  from  Llansawel  to  Carreg- 
y-Bwcci,  and  from  l^irk-y-Rlios  to  (lundwa  Ma wr,  that  Dr.  Davies 
was  an  a(le[)t  at  conjuring  and  profoundly  versed  in  the  black 
arts,  that  he  could  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep,  and  that 
he  was  master  of  languages  innumerable.  Will,  the  jolly  miller 
of  Khosybedw,  ])laced  his  horoscopical  attainments  somewhat 
under  a  cloud  by  putting  a  hairy  hand  on  one  of  Dr.  Davies'a 
pigs,  and  he  failed  to  divine  the  whereabouts  of  the  sc^uealer.  Will 
chuckled  ever  afterwards  when  ploughboys  and  deacons  talked 
mysteriously  about  the  divining  rods  of  learned  scholars.  And 
the  languages  mastered  were  not  so  numerous  either  as  DeioV 
School  used  to  attribute  to  Dr.  Harries  Jones,  of  Trefecca,  viz^ 
seventy,  and  that  he  had  written  a  book  which  only 
two  men  in  the  United  Kingdom  were  competent  to 
criticise,  the  Archbisho])  of  Canterbury  and  someone  else, 
whose  name  Deio  could  not  recollect  at  the  time.  I  remember 
that  the  Dominie's  memory  was  not  always  perfect.  By  iltia 
Deio'r  School  I  do  not  refer  at    all  to  David  Davies,  stontt^ 


REMINLSCENCES    OF    ('WMTWRCH.  329 

cutter,  and  schoolmaster  at  PTaldybrenin,  a  do^\Tiriglit  nice 
fellow,  who  did  an  immense  deal  of  good  in  his  native  place. 
Peace  bo  to  his  bones,  respect  to  his  memory,  and  prosperity  to 
his  children.  But  one  Deio'r  School,  a  huge,  bulky,  hirsute, 
cadaverous,  Calvinistic  pedagogue,  driving  cattle  in  summer  and 
vexing  little  children  in  winter.  We  remember  about  fourteen 
schoolmasters  successively  plying  the  trade  of  teaching  the 
young  ideas  how  to  shoot  in  this  district,  located  in  the  stable 
loft  at  Kfaldybrenin,  and  in  ditto  at  Bethel.  Tom  Ajax  was  one 
of  these  notorieties.  The  Knglish  which  he  imparted  to  his 
subjects  in  winter  he  accjuired  by  twisting  the  tail  of  the  black 
ox  in  England  in  the  summer.  He  was  a  firm  believer  in  the 
efficacy  of  the  virtuous  birch,  and  practical  demonstrations  of  his 
belief  were  by  no  means  unfrequent.  There  was  a  hay-rick  of 
Twin  1^1  i's  in  one  comer  of  his  cock-loft,  the  produce  of  the 
cha])el-yard,  and  his  tiny  subjects  ever  and  anon  W(»re  climbing 
to  the  top  of  it.  The  Ajax  used  to  birch  them  for 
going  up,  and  birch  them  for  coming  down  again. 
He  was  the  Dominie  of  the  liethel  loft.  His  rival 
and  contemporary  at  the  Flaldybrenin  '*  lofty "  academy 
was  Daniel  Tybach.  The  jealousies  of  these  rival  lofts  kept  the 
neighbourhood  in  continual  turmoil  and  threatened  at  one  time 
to  end  tragiciilly  enough.  The  accumulation  of  animal  matter 
in  the  stables  beneath  bade  fair  once  to  depopulate  the  district ; 
it  originated  a  virulent  form  of  scarlatina,  and  imperilled  the 
revenues  of  the  Dominies,  who  indicted  each  other  with  this 
shameful  neglect  of  sanitary  precautions.  The  simultaneous 
breaking  out  of  the  fatal  disease  amongst  the  children  of  two 
contiguous  cottages  which  patronised  the  rival  institutions  made 
it  difficult  for  tlie  petticoat  students  of  therapeutics  to  give  a 
just  judgment  on  the  amount  of  responsibility  incurn»d  by  the 
rival  .ind  now  impoverished  principals,  and  this  became  a 
source  of"  endless  wranglings  and  heartburnings,  and  divided 
the  populace  into  two  nmtually  recriminating  factions. 
Here  we  are  on  a  vast  field  of  interesting  reminiscences  and 
contrasts.  The  progress  of  elementary  education  and  the 
inconsistencies  of  ])opular  agitators.  I  remember  well  that  soon 
after  this  scarlet  fever  imbroglio  the  Methodists,  Baptists,  and 
Independents  met  together  to  fix  on  some  convenient  and 
central  spot  for  a  school.  1'he  land  was  granted  by  a  small  free- 
hold<*r,  Evans,  Dolegwynion,  hedged  off,  drained,  made  ready  for 
the  building,  in  fine,  everything  was  going  on  amicably  and 
prosperously  imtil  certain  agiUitors  came  to  the  neighbourhood, 
convened  meetings,  delivered  inflammatory  harangues,  denounced 
in  umneasured  terms  all  (loveniment  grants  as  base,  insidious, 
Jesuitical  attempts  on  the  part  of  the  men  then  in  power  to 
seduce,  under  the  false  glitter  of  monetaiy  grants,  all  our  poor  chil- 
dren to  downright  Roman  Catholicism.  They  tlu-ew  fire  into  this 


332  REMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTWECH. 

cognomens  we  are  known  to  our  familiar  acquaintances.  The  way 
to  ap  Enwyn's  heart  was  half  a  pint  of  beer;  what  strengthened 
Penypoenyn's  back  was  a  hooped  penny  of  George  III. ;  address 
.ap  Simon  as  Thomas  Davies,  and  use  the  plural  instead  of  the 
lingular  pronoun,  and  he  would  break  his  neck  to  serve  you. 
Well,  there  are  many  ways  to  a  man's  heart,  and  the  experts  in 
the  art  of  ingratiating  are  the  successful  in  the  world.  *'  Ad- 
nabod  dvn,  a  derwen  a  diwmod."  This  embodies  the  sad 
•experiences  of  ages.  What  is  now  the  common  atmosphere  of 
thought  was  once  the  profoundest  philosophy  or  the  highest 
poetry  of  the  wisest  of  their  time.  What  revolutions  of  empires 
and  strange  experiences  in  liuman  affairs  and  mental  thought 
must  take  place  before  Butler  and  Shakespeare  will  have  become 
the  daily  intellectual  breath  of  even  all  their  fellow  countrymen, 
let  alone  the  rest  of  the  world.  Will  they  ever  become  the 
horn -books  of  a  by-gone  age  ?  Rut  these  characters  are  too 
precious  to  lose  sight  of,  in  order  to  ventilate  any  system  of 
inomls  that  for  the  nonce  may  recommend  itself  to  our  j)en. 

Tom  always  wore  a  red  plush  waistcoat,  and  had  anticipated 
Darwin  by  many  a  long  year  in  his  belief  that  it  was,  like  the 
robin's,  love  alluring.  Penypoenyn  wore  from  top  to  toe,  hat 
and  boots  included,  a  complete  armour  of  drab,  of  a  shade  three- 
fourths  mouse  and  one-fourth  hedge  sparrow,  for  reasons  which 
shall  appear  by-and-byc*.  Ap  Knwyn's  clothes  were  of  many  hues, 
with  the  exception  of  the  tail  coat,  which  was  invariably  black, 
-and  a  cast-off  of  ]\Ir.  I)avie^?,  Tycerrig,  and  the  variegated 
residue  mainly  after  his  brother  Henry.  Deio  and  ap  Simon 
could  pay,  and  did,  for  their  clothes,  but  the  son  of  Buttermilk 
never.  The  two  Davids  sported  walking  sticks.  Tom,  to  his 
dying  day,  felt  he  was  too  juvenile  for  things  so  suggestive  of 
decaying  vigour.  Penypoenyn's  stick  was  indispensable  to  his 
profession  ;  it  was  his  veritable  staff  of  life.  Ap  Enwyn's  was 
handy  to  keep  at  a  res])ectable  distance  the  audacious  urchins 
that  mimicked  and  tormented  him.  Heart  of  oak  was  Deio's, 
but  the  white  thorn  was  aj)  Enwyn's  protector. 

The  three  were  religious;  they  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  infidels,  and  they  were  often  sorely  tried.  Peny]>oenyn 
was  a  Churchman  ;  immersion  was  the  favourite  tenet  of  Tom  ; 
and  ap  Enwyn  was  a  Calvin istic  Methodist.  Deio  and  Dai  were 
apprehensive  of  death,  and  made  due  provision  according  to 
their  lights,  but  Tom  believed  he  would  never  die — in  any  ease 
the  last  of  the  rac(».  He  was  to  see  everyone  else  "  kick  the 
bucket,"  his  favourite  euphemism  for  the  King  of  Terrors* 
call,  in  this  belief  he  exulted  over  every  enemy,  and  consoled 
himself  over  the  success  of  his  rivals,  who  basked  in  the  smiles 
that  should  have  been  his  own.  And  Dolaucothi  was  always  his 
final  goal  when  the  last  of  that  respected  family  had  been  lodged 
in  the  family  vault  at  Cayo.     Ap  Enwyn  was  a  zealous  member 


REMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTWECH.  33^ 

of  the  Calvinistic  body  at  Saron,  and  sat  invariably  in  the  big 
seat  amongst  the  deacons,  under  the  pulpit,  and  always  remem- 
bered the  text  of  the  semi-deaf  itinerant  David  Da  vies,  Khyd- 
cymmerau.  There  was  some  sympathetic  link  between  them, 
possibly  the  similarity  of  their  voices,  and  very  striking  it  was. 
Deio  was  a  communicant  in  Llanycrwys  Church,  to  which  he 
most  dutifully  escorted  his  mother  every  Sunday;  and  he  could 
follow  the  clergyman  pretty  fairly  through  the  service,  but  the 
whereabouts  of  the  lessons  was  a  sore  puzzle  to  him.  These 
were  to  our  friend  what  the  tides  were  to  Aristotle — past  finding 
out.  David  did  not  behave  too  well  either  at  all  times ;  he 
\vould  not  laugh  profanely  with  ap  Simon ;  an  unceasing 
wriggle  was  his  failing,  as  if  his  clay  was  not  too  well  tempered. 
And  in  other  respects  his  nerves  were  not  quite  synchronous  ; 
those  of  volition  and  the  mechanical  parts  of  his  machine  were 
not  always  on  the  same  plane.  To  will  was  all  right,  but  a  few 
of  the  thousand  and  one  confounded  failings  which  the  unhappy 
members  are  responsible  for  interfered  most  provokingly  in 
Deio's  case,  and  the  wriggling  to  which  we  have  referred  was 
the  result,  and  to  his  own  mother's  lot  it  fell  to  soothe  and 
harmonise  these  movements.  How  often  our  dearest  are  the 
victims  of  our  faults.  What  a  profound  and  melancholy  glimpse 
at  human  life.  No  one  is  absolutely  isolated  in  this  world. 
Initial  heredity  and  original  sin  are  tremendous  factors  in  the 
history  of  the  Adamic  race.  Ap  Simon  also  frequented  places  of 
worship ;  he  was  always  found  on  the  gallery  in  the  chapel,  and 
on  the  bier  behind  the  door  in  the  church.  He  was  the 
immortal  and  fearless.  What  a  reminder  to  ordinary  mortals  this 
bier  behind  the  door  must  have  been,  but  to  Tom  what  a 
mockery.  Ap  Enwyn  never  went  but  to  the  Calvinistic  chapel, 
Penypoenyn  never  darkened  the  door  of  a  conventicle, 
but  Tom  was  a  good  bit  of  a  latitudinarian.  Though  he 
used  to  honour  in  turns  every  place  of  worship  in  the 
district,  he  never  missed  being  present  at  the  birth  of  a  son  or 
daughter  to  Bethel  by  immersion  in  Dolegwynion  river.  His 
favourite  platform  on  these  occasions  was  the  hazel  hedge,  some 
three  yards  off  the  running  laver  of  regeneration.  He  risked 
his  life  once  on  the  foot-bridge,  and  was  thrown  by  some  of  the 
young  larkers  into  the  river  beneath,  which  had  the  same  effect 
upon  him  as  the  Red  Cow's  gin  on  Vicar  Pritchard's  buck — he 
was  never  seen  there  afterwards.  It  is  not  known  whether  ap 
Enwyn  ever  mastered  the  five  points  of  Calvinism ;  Deio  could 
repeat  the  Thirty-Nine  Articles,  and  used  to  roll  them  out,  at 
the  bidding  of  his  mother,  like  the  pedigree  of  Mr^  Johns^ 
Dolaucothi,  to  some  nine  generations  before  Adam  was  born, 
without  a  stop  imtil  the  Twentieth  Article  was  reached,  when 
the  audience  generally  interposed  with  **  Thank  you,  Deio,  that 
will  do.**    Tom  never  committed  to  memory  as  much  as  a  verse 


234  KEMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTNVRCH. 

to  prove  that  immersion  is  indispensable  to  the  salvation  of  the 
fioul.  Their  ages  were  kept  as  a  profound  secret ;  to  be  inter- 
rogated on  tht*  point  was  considered  an  insult,  and  resented 
accordingly.  Ap  Enwyn's  reply,  when  hard  pressed,  was  that  he 
was  tlie  siime  age  as  a  respectable  yeoman's  wife,  Lettis  Dolan- 
gwynion.  When  asked  "  What  year  were  you  bom  in  ? "  "A 
year,"  said  he,  ^  what  is  that  ?  I  never  heard  of  a  year  except  the 
year  that  Kili  Kryngwyn  was  churchwarden.  There  occurred 
some  year  then." 

Picture   a   luige,  bulky   six-foot-six,   with    a    camel    back, 
^niraous  and  gnarled  bones,  gibbous  shoulders,   eyes  flaming 
red  and  on  the  start  for  infinite  space,  long  protuberant  double 
set  of  teeth,    beardless  chin,     a   foreheadless   head,   tapering 
upwards  cone-like,  and  you  have  the  lord  of  Penypoenyn.  Deio 
belonged   in  this  respect   to  the   highest  order  of  men,  who 
invariably  have  large  frames  and  strong  physique :    Peter  the 
<ireat,    Cfoliath,    Bismarck,   Messrs.  Anak   and  Eglan,    Sir  W. 
llarcourt,   Kilsby  Jones  and   the   Parson  of  Llangynhofal  and 
^)thers.     Deio   had   one   advantage   over  all  these,   he   had  a 
duplicate  backlione,  and  here   was   the  seat  of  his   genius  and 
greatness.     ^ladanie  Albani  stands  unrivalled  for  her  musical 
talents.     Tennyson   is  admired   for   his   incomparable   poetry. 
(iladstone  figures   as  the  greatest  orator  of  the  century,  and 
Deio  rejoiced  in   his   two-fold  vertebrae.     The  truly  great  are 
not  conscious  of  that  in  which   their  greatness   consists.     The 
brave  man  is  not  conscious  of  his  bravery,  nor  the  truthful  man 
of  his  veracity ;  bravery  and  veracity  are  natural  to    them.     A 
horse  or  an  elephant  is  not  aware  that  he  can  refuse  ;  and  Deio 
must  be  classified  in  this  category.     He  never  refused  to  convey 
any  load,  however  weighty  and  cumbersome.     The  number  and 
weight  were  sim])ly  regulated  by  the  conscience  of  his  employers, 
and  the  result  in  their  case,  as  elsewhere,  can  be  better  imagined 
than  described  ;  the   elasticity  of  an  interested  conscience  is 
proverbial.     If  Deio   had  been   aware  of  his   own  strength  he 
would  have  pulverised  the  bones  of  half  the  youngsters  in  the 
neighbourhood.     Ap   Enwyn   skulked ;    ap   Simon   swore,  and 
Deio  foamed    like    a    demoniac — under    provocation    he    was 
Absolutely  uncontrollable.     Now  before   Deio  can  be  assigned 
his   true   position,  and   his    genius   and    services    be    rightly 
estimated,  it  is  necessary  to  remember  that  his  domicile  was  at 
least  forty  miles  distant  from  the  nearest  railway.     He   was  a 
ix)st.man,  a  carrier's  cart,  a  canal  boat,   a  stage  wagon,  a  steam 
engine,  all  in  himself,  self-fed   and  self-clothed.     The   market 
town  of  that  remote  region  was  Lampeter  Pont-Stephen,   some 
eight  miles  away,  and  Deio  walked  to  and  fro  three  times  a  week 
for  a  penny  a  journey.     His  usual  load  on  Saturdays  consisted  of 
about  sixty  pairs  of  boots,  from  Jacki  Baker's  shop,  three  pecks 


REMINISCENCES    OF   CWMTWRCH.  335 

of  flour,  fourteen  bottles  of  barm,  a  roll  of  leather,  tea,  sugar  and 
candles,  and  numerous  sundries  to  some  three  dozen  customers. 
Perspire  he  never  did,  but  his  tongue  flapped  out  of  his  mouth 
when  the  load  was  heavier  than  usual.  He  was  the  link  between 
his  native  place  and  civilisation.  The  link  never  grew  rusty* 
He  was  faithful  and  laborious.  His  genealogical  memory  was 
unfathomable,  he  was  a  living  encyclopaedia  of  all  the  pedigrees 
of  the  surrounding  districts.  What  glorious  harvests  have  men 
not  reaped  from  duly  utilising  their  leisure  moments.  The 
industrious  promoters  of  commerce,  and  men  in  exalted  and 
responsible  positions,  by  wisely  cultivating  their  spare  moments, 
have  not  imfrequently  enriched  the  world  with  the  greatest 
discoveries  of  science,  the  sublimest  flights  of  poetry,  and  the 
soundest  maxims  of  religion  and  philosophy.  So  likewise  the 
pedigrees  of  his  neighbours  were  Deio's  refreshing  study  when 
his  monster  clay  was  prostrate  on  that  bed  which  he  defied 
Edwinsford  Hall  to  match.  It  is  said  that  the  Druids  would 
not  write  their  profound  mysteries  but  on  the  tablets  of  the 
memory,  and  that  they  could  reproduce  volumes  of  sublime  and 
erudite  philosophies  from  memory  alone,  and  that  when  they  were 
massacred  by  the  cruel  Eoman  soldiers  in  the  island  of  Mona, 
the  high  mysteries  of  ages  perished  with  them.  Well,  be  that 
as  it  may,  such  was  the  fact  in  Deio's  case,  the  world  was 
deprived  of  a  thousand  long  lines  of  now  irrecoverable  pedigrees 
when  the  soul  of  Penypoenyn  took  its  flight  to  more  genial 
climes  and  his  body  was  rested  under  the  green  sod  in  God's 
peaceful  acre  at  Llanycrwys.  It  was  to  his  mother  that  Deio 
was  indebted  for  his  genealogical  attainments,  and  his  attachment 
to  the  services  of  the  ancient  Church  of  his  maternal  ancestors. 
We  are  here  confronted  with  a  great  truth  of  a  two-fold  nature : 
a  mother's  influence,  and  the  transmission  of  great  mental 
powers  through  the  female  line.  All  great  men  have  had  great 
mothers,  or  have  received  most  careful  maternal  training. 
Gifted  men  leave  no  off"spring,  or,  if  so,  only  stupid  mediocrities. 
Sin  is  only  transmissible  through  the  male.  Heredity  is  a 
mystery  not  yet  fathomed. 

Nothing  demonstrates  more  convincingly  the  Divine  origin  of 
the  Church  and  the  orthodoxy  of  her  doctrines  and  the 
Scripturalness  of  her  services  than  that  men  should  to  this  day 
attend  the  church  at  I^lanycrwys.  Many  a  parish  clerk  and  many 
a  parish  priest  have  they  had  there  that  were  what  they  should 
not  have  been.  But  Deio  stood  on  an  immovable  basis  when 
maintaining  that  the  sacraments  were  from  God  and  dependent 
on  God's  creative  word,  whether  the  clergyman  was  good  or 
bad,  and  that  he  had  no  more  to  do  \¥ith  their  efficacious 
operations  than  the  character  of  the  farmer  had  to  do  with  the 
growth  of  com,  or  the  state  of  the  weather. 

Ap  Simon  was  not  a  member  at  Bethel,  but  neither  Ivan 


336  REMINISCENCES    OF    CWMT^^RCH. 

Gwrnifiilw  nor  Jucki  Coegwyn  was  more  zealous   for  the  cause 

of  iiiiniersion.        Tom   was  jealous  of    Daniel    Sarah    BeDni, 

Deio  was  joalous  of  ap  Enwyn.     Two  of  a  trade  can  never  agree. 

Daniel  could  mow,  while  Tom  could  only  rake.     Daniel  cut  hi» 

leg  with  the  scytlie  while  mowing  rushes,  andap  Simon  rejoiced 

80  much  thereat  that  Daniel  Ijecame  his  implacable  enemy  ever 

afterwards.     The   surest   way  to  irritate  Dan  was   to  eulogise 

Tom,  and  r/tv  cersu.     Neither  Penyi)oenyn  nor  ap  Enwyn  ever 

assisted  at  any  farm  in  <^  operations  whatever,  while  Tom  was  in 

his  glory  in  the  harvest  field.     Deio  could  carry  any  amount  for 

about  eight    miles,   and  his  movements  were  necessarily  slow. 

Tom   never  carried  anything,  nor  would  he  run  on  any  kind  of 

errand  except  t«)  fetch  a  dcK'tor,   in  which  he  excelled,  and  his 

services  were  often  in  re(|uest.     It  took  him  an  hour  exactly  to 

run  tht»  seven  miles  to  I^impeter,the  abode  of  the  nearest  doctor, 

with   the  exception   of  **  Dai    Saer  y  Gwt,"   a   notable    qu.ick. 

Dai    Saer  y  Ciwt   was   one  of  the  notorieties  of  this    locality. 

JSanctimonioiis,   pii^tistic,    unctuous  of  tone  and   leer-<*yed,    bis 

conv(»rsation    was    low,   deliberate,    soajiy,   enticing,  and  sham 

religious.     He  arrogated   to    himself  a  boundless  knowledge  of 

therapeutics,  and   was,  to  their  great  risk,  believed  by  many  of 

the    credulous  women.       His    panacea    for    all    diseases    was 

"letting  a  little  blood."     Saer  y  (iwt  well  understood,  with  all 

the    accom])lished   and  consunjuiate    scoundrels  of  the  world, 

that  complete   success  was  not  possible  except    under  the  garb 

of  religion.     Imposture    without   religion    only  half  succeeds. 

Ghosts,   which    are  only  vouchstifed  to  the  pious,  were  seen  in 

thousands  by  Dai  Saer  y  Gwt,  and  this  added  immensely  to  his 

j)opularity.     Many  a  one  went  to  an  untimely  gmve  for  trusting 

too  implicitly  in  this  lying  hypocrite.     Ap  Simon  ran    many  a 

time  to  (Jwtws  P'ain   to  fetch  this   sanctimonious  charlatan,  to 

the  imminent  danger  of  the  credulous  sick.     How  often    the 

true  physician   fails,    while   the    unprincipled  quack    succeeds. 

Neither  Deio  nor  ap  Enwyn  was  ever  sent  to  fetch  a  doctor  ta 

man   or  l>east ;    their    movements   were   too   sluggish.       Deio 

walked,  Dai  trotted,  Tom  ran,  ap  Enwyn  was  the  man   for  a 

long  journey,  when  time  was  of  no  consequence,  Penypoenyn 

was  unmatched  lor  a  heavy  load,  and  Tom  served  his  generation 

as  a  telegraph.     Tom  was  never  from   home,  nor  Deio  far,  but 

ap  Enwyn  ventured  once  as  far  as  Beaufort,  in  Monmouthshire, 

whence    he  brought   back  enousjh  English  to  throw  his  rival* 

into  paroxysms  of  burning  jealousy.     Ap  Simon's  favourite  food 

was  cold  turnips,  on  which  he  lived  at  times  for  weeks  together ; 

slept  o'  nights  in  the  open  fields.    The  savoury  meat  such  as 

Deio  loved  was  red  herrings,  which  his  mother  broiled  for  him 

in  the  ashes  of  peat,  which  he  used  to  carry  in  enormous   loads 

from  Gwndwn  Mawr  to  Penypoenyn,  a  distance  of  four  miles. 

Ap  Enwyn  derived  this  honourable  title  from  a  grand  exploit  of 


REMINISCENCES  OF  CWMTWECH.  337 

his  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  delicious  beverage  which 
is  known  under  that  name.  Tom  was  a  farm  servant  and  ended 
his  days  at  Melinrhos.  Ap  Enwyn  was  a  lodger  with  his  brother, 
and  Deio  lived  in  a  house  of  his  own.  Deio  had  very  long  teeth, 
Tom  a  monstrous  mouth,  and  ap  Enwyn  a  nose,  half  parrot,  half 
pelican.  Deio  had  a  long  face,  as  if  two  heads  had  melted  into 
one,  and  suggested  the  missing  link ;  Tom  had  the  small-pox, 
and  nature  never  finished  his  upper  lip;  ap  Enw3m  could 
hold  a  threepenny-bit  between  his  chin  and  his  nose.  Deio's 
long  teeth  were  mottled  vermilion ;  Tom's  broad  incisors  were 
«ky  blue,  and  ap  Enwyn's  stumps  had  wished  him  good-bye. 

The  analysis  of  their  mental  attainments  is  no  concern  of  ours, 
but  I  may  incidentally  remark  that  only  one  of  them  was 
renowned  for  his  mathematical  acquirements.  He  knew  the 
multipUcation  table  up  to  a  certain  figure  in  the  twice,  which 
he  repeated  in  that  inimitable  voice  of  his  thousands  of  times 
as  follows  for  tobacco : — Twice  2  is  4  ;  twice  4  is  8 ;  twice  8  is  16; 
twice  10  is  20 ;  twice  2  is  4 ;  twice  4  is  8,  and  so  on  in  endless 
rotation  round  this  cycle  as  long  as  he  could  hold  out,  for  the 
amount  of  tobacco  depended  upon  his  unintermitting 
endurance.  It  is  said  that  the  feathery  denizens  of  the  sky  are 
not  very  advanced  mathematicians  ;  the  same  can  be  predicated 
of  Tom  and  Deio.  Beyond  5,  the  figmre  of  man,  they  were 
lost  in  blank  amazement. 

It  is  a  profound  and  anxious  question  of  our  day,  what  is 
the  dumb  creation  ?  Through  what  mental  process  do  they  go, 
and  have  they  a  future  ?  And  one  cannot  help  asking — Are 
these  characters  of  our  youthful  recollection,  types  of  degeneracy 
from  a  higher  origin,  or  of  a  relapse  to  a  prior  state  through 
which  man  has  passed  ?  What  was  at  fault,  their  bodies  or  their 
souls  ?  Were  they  in  a  transmigratory  state  ?  Where  is  the  seat 
of  responsibility  ?  But  this  is  a  bootless  enquiry  at  present,  and 
beside  the  scope  of  this  paper. 

We  wish  to  be  honest  with  these  characters.  They  were  men, 
and  humanum  est  errare.  Great  men  have  often  great  faults. 
So  ap  Enwyn's  failing  was  that  of  Noah's.  Simon's  fault  was 
Jacob's,  and  Mr.  Penypoenyn's  weakness  was  that  of  the  man 
whom  Moses  transported  into  the  moon  with  the  bundle  of 
sticks  on  his  back.  The  above  were  living  beings,  and 
their  limning  is  faithful,  and  nothing  has  been  drawn  upon 
the  imagination.  And  should  they  prove  of  any  interest  to 
the  readers  of  the  DragoUy  there  are  more  in  store. 

Obeervafory  Cottage.  John  Jones. 


w 


STUDIES    IN    LEWIS    MORRIS. 


AETICLE    II. 

Disappointed  in  science,  our  poet  turns  from  books  to  men. 
What  if  he  turn  politician  and  go  to  Parliament  ?  Surely  it  is 
a  noble  task 

*'  To  contrive 
By  years  of  thought  and  labour,  to  withdraw 
Some  portion  of  their  load  from  lives  bent  down 
By  old  abusive  law." 

But  how  to  put  up  with  lying  demagogues  ?  How  to  cleave  to 
your  party  oftentimes  against  the  truth,  for  it  is  not  to  be 
supposed  that  either  of  the  great  parties  of  the  State  has  a 
monopoly  of  all  the  truth  ?  No  one  who  has  "  Truth  against  the 
world  "  as  his  motto  can  cling  to  party  under  all  circumstances. 
Will  he  then  turn  soldier  ?  Queen's  counsel  ?  surgeon  ?  mer- 
chant ?  speculator  on  the  Exchange  ?  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  ? 
Nay ;  he  finds  not  what  his  soul  seeketh,  and  turns  away  from 
the  trades  and  professions  with  scorn. 

Where,  then,  is  truth  ?  He  will  next  try  pleasure.  But  his 
experience  is  only  a  repetition  of  that  of  the  king  who  dwelt  in 
Jerusalem — vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit.  The  verses  which  he 
devotes  to  the  delineation  of  pleasure,  it  must  be  confessed,  sink 
considerably  below  the  rest  in  originality  and  expression.  The 
multiplication  of  "  oh's  "  and  " !  "always  looks  suspicious.  The  want 
of  the  same  depth  here  that  is  observable  in  the  other  portions 
of  the  poem  may  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  sensual  life 
has  never  had  much  attraction  for  the  author.  Fleeing  from 
the  syren  Pleasure  as  one  flees  from  "  the  city  of  the  dead,"  he 
turns  devout  and  ravenously  devours  the  religions  of  the  world. 
He  first  explores  the  religion  of  Greece ;  then  of  Persia  ;  then 
of  China ;  afterwards  of  the  Hebrews.    He  scans  the  pages 

"  Which  tell  how  earthly  chiefs  who  loved  the  right 
Were  dear  to  God  ;  and  how  the  poet  king 
Sang,  from  his  full  repentant  heart,  the  strains 
Sad  hearts  still  love  to  sing. 

"  And  how  the  seer  was  filled  with  words  of  fire. 
And  passionate  scorn  and  lofty  hate  of  111 
So  pure,  that  we  who  hear  them  seem  to  hear 
God  speaking  to  us  stilL*' 


STUDIES  IN  LEWIS  MOEEIS.  339 

In  Judaism,  therefore,  he  will  find  firm  ground  whereon  his  soul 
may  alight.     Not  so  : 

"  For  mixed  with  thene  dark  tales  of  fraud  and  blood, 
Like  weeds  in  some  fair  garden  ;  till  I  said, 
'  These  are  not  His  ;  how  shall  a  man  discern 
The  Uving  from  the  dead  ?  *  " 

Is  it  necessary  to  guard  the  untrained  reader  against  ascribing 
this  and  the  sentiments  which  follow  to  Mr.  Morris  personally  ? 
He  is  only  presenting,  with  extraordinary  force  and  terseness,  the 
current  objections  urged  by  modem  infidelity  against  Holy 
Writ.  Nevertheless  he  shows  at  the  same  time  that  he  has 
probed  these  objections  to  the  quick,  that  he  has  measiured, 
probably  felt,  them  in  all  their  poignant  force ;  but  that,  as  the 
sequel  proves,  he  has  triumphed  over  them  all.  But  to  return : 
Can  the  Book  which  recounts  the  "  tales  of  fraud  and  blood  "  be 
Divinely  inspired  ?  Can  it  be  God's  Book  ?  The  incipient  faith 
of  the  anxious  inquirer  after  truth  is  shaken  ;  he  is  afraid  to  rest 
his  soul  on  the  supposed  revelations  of  the  Old  Testament ;  he 
will,  then,  make  a  trial  of  the  New  : — 

"  I  will  go  to  that  fair  Life,  the  flower  of  lives  ; 
I  will  prove  the  infinite  pity  and  love  which  shine 
From  each  recorded  word  of  Him  who  once 
Was  human,  yet  Divine." 

But  even  here  the  old  doubt  is  renewed.  "  If  one  smite  thee 
on  one  cheek,  turn  to  him  the  other  also."  That  and  similar 
seemingly  impracticable  counsels  excite  questionings  and  mis- 
givings. Then  the  miracle  of  the  Incarnation  confronts  him  at 
the  very  outset : — 

"  And  was  it  tnith  or  some  too  reverent  dream 
Which  scorned  God*s  precious  processes  of  birth. 
And  spumed  aside  for  Him  the  changeless  laws 
Which  rule  all  things  of  earth  ? 

'*  Or  how  shall  some  strange  breach  of  natural  law 
Be  proof  of  moral  truth  ?*' 

That  the  theologians  adduce  miracles  as  proofs  of  moral  truth  I 
have  yet  to  learn.  No  doubt  they  are  so  represented  by  the 
sceptical  writers  of  the  day,  but  they  are  misrepresented. 
Theologians  do  teach  that  miracles  are  evidences  of  supernatural 
agency;  but  the  miracle-worker  proclaims  that  whether  the 
supernatural  agency  be  Divine  or  Satanic  is  a  matter  which 
must  be  determined  by  the  "  moral  truth."  Orthodox  theo- 
logians make  moral  truth  the  test  of  miracles,  never  miracles 
the  test  of  moral  truth.  We  have  no  choice  in  the  matter,  for 
the  rule  is  plainly  laid  down  in  the  Bible  for  our  guidance. 
Here,  therefore,  the  poet  somewhat  misses  the  mark.  These 
objections,  however,  coupled  with  the  subsequent  controversies 
and  corruptions  of  doctrine  in  the  Church,  make  the  searcher 
after  truth  hesitate  to  repose  his  soul  on  the  revelation.^  c«^<* 
tained  in  the  Christian's  Bible. 

w  2 


340  STUDIES  IX  LEWIS  MORKIS. 

He  now  turns  fix»m  supernatural  to  natural  religion.  Hitherto 
throughout  his  eager  quest  he  has  never  relaxed  his  hold  on  the 
fundamental  truths  of  natural  religion  : — 

"  Yet  still  deep  down,  within  my  being  I  kept 
Two  Hacred  fires  alight  through  mil  the  strife. 
Faith  in  a  living  God  ;  faith  in  a  f»oal 
Dowered  with  endless  life. 

"  And  therefore,  though  the  world's  foundittionB  shook, 
I  was  not  all  unhappy  ;  knowing  well 
That  He  whose  hand  sustained  me  would  not  bear 
To  leave  my  soul  in  helL^ 

Whether  the  last  line  is  an  echo,  without  any  definite  meaning 
attached  to  it,  of  the  Psalmist's  words, 

"  Thou  H-ilt  not  leave  my  soul  in  hell,*' 

I  cannot  tell.  In  a  future  paper,  however,  I  purpose  to  revert 
to  Mr.  Morris's  views,  often  expressed,  of  the  relation 
between  truth  and  error,  virtue  and  vice,  light  and  darkness, 
love  and  hatred,  heaven  and  hell.*  In  the  following  verses  the 
poet's  faith  in  God  and  immortality,  his  faith  in  natural  religion, 
which  hitherto  had  remained  pure,  strong,  and  intact,  is  being 
violently  assaulted.  The  immortality  we  witness  in  nature  i.s 
that  of  the  species,  not  of  the  individual ;  of  the  type,  not  of  the 
imit.  Last  year's  rose  is  dead,  but  survives  in  another  rose ; 
last  year's  blackbird  is  dead,  but  sings  in  another  blackbird.  Is 
it  otherwise  with  man  ?  Is  our  immortality  that  of  race  or 
that  of  the  individual  ?  What  if  personal  immortality  be  but  a 
dream  ? 

''  And  if  it  be  a  lovely  dream — no  more. 

And  life  is  ended  with  our  latest  breath. 
May  not  the  same  sweet  fancy  have  devised 
The  Lord  of  life  and  death  V* 

With  our  faith  in  personal  immortality  vanishes  our  faith  in 
God.  Does  God  exist  ?  As  he  cannot  finally  settle  his  own 
immortality,  so  he  cannot  conclusively  prove  the  Being  of  God. 
But  if  he  cannot  prove  that  He  is,  others  cannot  prove  that  He 
is  not : — 

"  Be  sure,  no  easier  is  it  to  declare 

He  is  not  than  He  is ;  and  I  who  sought 
Firm  ground,  saw  here  the  same  too  credulous  faith 
Ana  impotence  of  thought." 

Two  ideas  are  here  strikingly  presented  to  us.  First,  if  there  be 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  &ith,  there  are  difficulties  still  more 
insuperable  in  the  way  of  unbelief ;  if  it  be  hard  to  prove  that 
there  is  a  God,  it  is  harder  to  prove  that  there  is  no  God.  By 
resorting  to  Atheism  you  do  not  diminish  mysteries,  you  very 
sensibly  increase  them.  Second,  infidels  are  really  more 
credulous  than  believers.  Men  who  will  not  believe  in  the 
resurrection  of  Jesus  Christ  will  readily  believe  in  the  appearance 
of  ghosts  in  answer  to  insensate  rapping  of  tables.  Extremes 
meet 


STUDIES  IN  LEWIS  MOEEIS.  341 

The  seeker  after  truth  has  now  quenched  the  two  fires  which 
natural  religion  kept  burning  in  his  soul,  and  his  heart  becomes 
the  scene  of  dreary,  widespread  desolation.  Horrid  despair 
seizes  him ;  both  supernatural  and  natural  religion  have 
miserably  failed  him  in  the  hour  of  his  extremity.  He  therefore 
takes  to  travelling.  Will  not  change  of  scenery  restore  health 
to  his  debilitated  soul  ?  He  crosses  the  Atlantic ;  the  salt  breezes 
invigorate  hira,  body  and  mind  ;  he  voyages  towards  the  Pole, 
then  down  to  the  tropics,  thence  to  the  East, 

''  And,  day  by  day,  he  felt  his  frozen  soul, 
Soothed  by  the  healing  influences  of  change, 
Grow  softer." 

He  was  now  enjoying  a  kind  of  calm,  not  the  calm  which 
follows  victory,  but  that  which  comes  from  flight — 

'*  No  more  by  impotent  musings  vexed." 

At  length  he  reaches  Italy: — 

"  Then  as  the  sweet  days  passed  one  by  one. 
New  tides  of  life  through  body  and  soul  were  sent ; 
And  daily  sights  of  beauty  worked  a  calm. 
Ineffable  delight. 

"  And  soon,  as  in  the  Spring,  ere  frosts  are  done, 
Deep  down  in  earth  the  black  roots  quicken  and  start, 
I  seemed  to  feel  a  spring  of  faith  and  love 
Stir  through  my  frozen  heart." 

One  can  easily  understand  that  residence  in  beautiful,  sunny 
Italy  would  work  an  "  ineffable  calm  content ; "  but  what  about 
the  re-quickening  of  the  roots  of  faith  ?  The  residence  in  Italy 
is  only  the  occasion,  not  the  cause,  of  this  re-quickening.  The 
soul  at  bottom  is  always  a  believer.  Theism,  not  atheism,  is  its 
normal  primal  creed ;  and  when  the  superstructure  of  scepticism 
gradually  crumbled  from  off  the  soul,  the  latter  began  to 
recover  its  elasticity  and  returned  to  its  normal  state.  The 
roots  of  faith  began  to  stir,  the  two  fires  again  began  to  glow ; 
and  all  of  a  sudden  this  anxious  inquirer  rushes  to  another 
extreme.  He  becomes  a  monk,  believing  not  only  in  the  Bible, 
but  in  all  the  "  fables,  always  foolish,  sometimes  fair,"  of  the 
Roman  Church.  But  a  mind  so  keen  as  his  could  not  long  be 
duped.  Give  it  time  to  recuperate  its  energies  from  the 
exhausting  weariness  of  despair,  and  it  will  again  break  through 
the  tangled  web  of  dogma,  especially  of  a  dogma  so  rotten  as 
that  of  Soman  Catholicism.  Presently,  therefore,  we  see  him 
making  his  escape  from  the  convent  into  the  wide,  wide  world, 
and  the  stir  and  movement  and  renewal  everywhere  observable 
in  nature  in  the  months  of  Spring  sent  a  thrill  of  gladness 
through  his  soul,  and  at  the  same  time  awakened  a  sense  of 
^  salutary  shame." 

"  For  what  was  it  I  had  wished  ?    To  set  aside 
The  perfect  scheme  of  things,  to  live  apart 
A  sterile  life,  divorced  from  light  and  love, 
Sole  with  an  empty  heart." 


J9 
t9 


342  STUDIES  IN  LEW'IS  MORRIS. 

He  rushes  tbroogh  Paris,  the  City  of  Pleasure,  and  arrives  in 
England, 

**  Our  dear  motheri  dearer  far  than  fair, 
The  home  of  lofty  souls  and  busy  brains, 
Keener  for  that  thick  air. 

**  Then  a  long  interval  of  patient  toil. 
Building  the  gradual  frameworic  of  my  art, 
With  eyes  which  cared  no  more  to  seek  the  whole. 
Fast  fixed  upon  the  part 

"  And  mind,  which  shunned  the  general,  absorbed 
In  the  particular  only,  till  it  saw 
What  boundless  possibilities  lie  between 
The  matter  and  the  law  1" 

I  am  by  no  means  confident  that  I  rightly  divine  the  meaning 
of  the  last  two  verses.  Do  they  mean  that  whilst  formerly  he 
let  his  mind  run  upon  all  the  sciences,  he  now  settled  down  to 
the  study  of  the  poetic  art,  the  "  part "  he  singled  out  from  the 
•*  whole  "  as  his  special  task  in  the  world  ?  What  also  is  the 
meaning  of  the  last  two  lines  ?  The  "  matter,"  I  suppose,  is 
equivalent  to  the  ** particular,"  the  "law "to  the  "general,' 
but  I  cannot,  I  confess,  quite  comprehend  the  "  possibilities 
between  the  one  and  the  other.  Working  the  work  God  had 
given  him  to  do,  he  came  by  degrees  to  perceive 

"How  that  which  may  be  rules,  not  that  which  must ; 
And  absolute  truth  revealed,  would  serve  to  blind 
The  soul's  bright  eye,  and  sear  nidth  tongues  of  flame 
The  sinews  of  the  mind. 

"  How  in  the  web  of  life,  the  thread  of  truth 
Is  woven  with  error ;  yet  a  vesture  fair 
Comes  from  the  loom — a  precious  royal  robe 
Fit  for  a  god  to  wear." 

Probabilities,  not  certainties — maybe's,  not  musts — guide  us  in 
all  our  imdertakings  in  reference  to  this  world  ;  the  same  rule 
should  guide  us  in  reference  to  the  higher.  Relative,  not 
absolute,  truth  is  all  that  is  given  us  in  our  present  state,  not 
because  God  is  niggardly  in  His  revelations,  but  because  weak 
man  could  not  bear  the  vision.  "  Thou  canst  not  see  Me  and 
live."  The  sun's  light  is  tempered  to  the  eye,  the  Divine 
revelations  are  graduated  to  the  mind.     However, 

"Ray  by  ray,  the  clear  faced  unity 
Orbed  itself  forth,  and  lo  !  the  noble  throng 
Of  patient  souls,  who  sought  the  truth  in  act. 
And  grew  tJirough  silence,  strong." 

The  truth  is  therefore  at  last  discovered,  not  through  study,  but 
through  obedience.  "If  ye  do  My  will,  ye  shall  know  the 
doctrine."  "Awake  to  righteousness  and  sin  not,"  is  the 
antidote  prescribed  by  the  Apostle  to  the  Corinthian  doubters* 
What  depths  of  meaning  lie  in  the  words  of  inspiration !  The 
seeker  for  truth  at  last  founds  a  family.  As  he  watches  over 
his  children's  growth,  his  faith  in  God,  Kight,  and  Immortality 
gathers  strength  and  robustness.    All  the  more  noted  sceptics 


STUDIES  IN  LEWIS  MOEEIS.  343 

of  the  ages,  whether  men  or  women,  if  I  mistake  not,  were 
strangers  to  wedded  life.  Children  come  fresh  from  the  other 
world  and  carry  about  them  the  sweet  aroma  of  flowers  which 
never  die.  We  cannot  believe  in  children  and  disbelieve  in 
immortality. 

"  And  little  lives  are  mine  to  keep  cniBtained, 
Strange  mytitic  growths,  which  day  by  day  expand, 
Like  the  flowers  they  are,  and  set  me  in  a  fair 
Perpetual  wonderland. 

"  New  senses,  gradual  language,  dawning  mind, 
And,  with  each  day  that  passes,  traced  more  strong 
On  those  white  tablets,  awful  characters 
That  tell  of  right  and  wrong. 

"  And  what  hand  wrote  them  ?'* — 

Not  that  of  use  or  custom,  certainly.  Those  "awful  characters'* 
are  daily  made  more  distinct  and  visible  by  the  home  training, 
but  they  are  not  impressed  by  it.  The  sculptor,  by  his  fine 
chiselling,  evolves  the  beautiful,  elegant  curves  in  the  block  of 
marble;  he  evolves,  but  does  not  inject  them.  Similarly  the 
parents  sculpture  the  characters  of  their  offspring,  removing  the 
roughness  and  smoothing  down  the  angularities.  They  draw  to 
light  the  "  awful  characters  that  tell  of  right  and  wrong,"  but 
they  did  not  write  them — they  are  as  great  a  surprise  to  them 
as  to  anybody.  Whose  writing  are  they  then?  What  skilful 
hand  drew  the  mystic  characters  ?  Faith  in  God,  Eight,  and 
Immortality  once  more  blossoms  in  the  poet's  soul  and  he 
recovers  his  hold  on  natural  religion.  But  does  he  in 
supernatural  ?    The  poem  furnishes  no  answer. 

J.  Cynddylan  Jones. 


WELSH    CHARACTER    SKETCHES 


V^9*    -I- 


THE  WTLSH  "DARLINGS." 


ThankB  to  >Ir.  Chapman,  of  the  Photographic  Studio,  Swansea, 
we  are  enabled  to  present  our  readers  with  a  life-like  sketch  of 
these  modem  heroines.  We  all  know  the  Mumbles,  that 
joleasant  spot  just  beyond  the  reach  of  the  stranee  mineral 
"^oors  and   weird  combinaUon  o(  &Taokes  which  distingaiah 


THE  W^LSH  "DARLINGS."  345 

Swansea ;  and  we  all  know  the  luxury  of  the  contrast,  the 
ineffable  delight  of  the  change  from  the  noise  and  din  of  the 
great  factory,  to  the  calm  of  the  blue  skies,  and  the  varied 
"  burden  "  of  the  waves.  To  all  of  us,  the  Mumbles  comes  like  a 
pleasant  memory.  That  tea  and  those  shrimps,  when  the  charms 
of  Sarah  Ann  (w^ho  calls  them  "  srimps,")  and  the  sweet  converse 
of  Matilda  Jane  were  doubly  endeared  !  Or  those  grand  oysters, 
and  pats  of  snowy  bread  and  creamy  butter,  and  the  foaming 
l)ewters  of  Burton,  with  which  the  delectables  were  swept  away ; 
who  once  having  enjoyed  can  ever  forget  ? 

Admirable  place  for  pensive  couples,  for  betrothed  swains 
is  the  Mumbles.  It  is  there  that  young  Swansea  wooed  his 
love,  and  plighted  vows,  and  arranged  all  about  the  ring  and 
the  wedding,  and  the  "  ever  after."  And  it  is  there  that  age 
wanders  when  the  music  of  life  has  subsided  into  a  solemn 
chant,  and  the  bright  hues  have  faded,  and  visions  of  hope 
disappeared  like  the  soap  bubbles  of  youth.  Very  charming  is 
the  Mumbles  on  a  Summer's  day,  when  the  white  houses  of  the 
♦Somersetshire  coast  may  be  seen,  and  the  ships  below  sail  by  on 
glassy  waters  as  tranquilly  as  glide  the  clouds  overhead.  But 
there  are  times  and  seasons  when  the  white  houses  are  lost 
to  view,  and  the  huge  w^aves  riot  and  roar,  and  the  strongest 
ship  is  tossed  about  like  a  cockle-shell.  Such  was  the 
memorable  27th  of  February,  1883,  when  the  Prussian  barque 
Admiral  Prinz  Adelbert  came .  upon  the  Mixen,  and  the  brave 
Mumbles  boatmen,  whom  we  all  knew,  with  their  vast  top 
boots,  and  jerseys,  went  out  to  the  rescue.  Four  of  them  were 
drowned  in  the  gallant  attempt.  Boatmen  and  seamen  were 
being  dashed  against  the  rocks,  or  thrown  about  like  straws  in 
the  fiercest  sea  ever  known,  when  Jessie  Ace  and  her  sister  Mrs. 
Wright,  daughters  of  the  lighthouse  keeper,  rushed  down  the 
rocks  to  the  rescue !  Other  women  would  have  convulsively 
pressed  their  hands  and  cried ;  not  so  our  heroines  ?  They 
twisted  a  shawl — the  only  thing  at  hand — and  threw  it  to  a  man 
whom  they  saw  drowning.  Alas  it  was  too  short.  Jessie  Ace, 
assisted  by  her  sister,  who  clung  to  tfie  rock  with  one  hand  and 
held  her  companion  by  the  other,  jumped  into  the  sea  with  the 
€xtemix)rised  rope,  and  with  the  howling  wind  and  the 
maddening  surf  around  her,  brought  the  seaman  safe  to  shore. 
It  was  a  brave  deed,  and  Jessie  and  her  sister  will  be  honourably 
remembered  for  it  for  many  a  long  day  to  come.  How  great 
the  contrast  between  the  conduct  of  these  brave  women  and 
that  of  the  farm  labourer  who  at  the  inquest  at  Porthcawl 
deposed  to  hearing  the  cries  of  the  struggling  men,  yet 
'^  shuffled  on,"  safe  himself,  and  with  no  more  soul  in  him  than 
in  the  turnips  he  cultivated. 

Ap  Adda. 


346      ^^ELSH  CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 


THE  MUMBLES  BOATMEN. 
{Crew  of  the  Wolverhampton  Lifeboat.) 


The  winds  howl  fearful  music 

As  the  wild  waves  lash  the  strand, 

And  the  startled,  frightened  sea  birds 

Are  hurrying  far  inland ; 

But  the  Boatmen  of  the  Mumbles 

Are  gazing  on  the  bay. 

Where  the  great "  white  horses  "  gambol 

In  the  Mixen's  starry  spray. 

And  southward  and  to  westward, 
Now  the  Boatmen  keenly  look — 
They  can  read  the  breakers'  story — 
As  a  school-boy  reads  a  book, 
And  they  see  a  barque,  near  foundering 
(Like  a  steed  that's  wounded  sore), 
She  is  ploughing  in  the  billows. 
And  drifting  on  the  shore. 

Now,  Boatman  of  the  Mumbles, 
Here  is  noble  work  for  thee. 
Wilt  thou  go  on  Mercy's  errand 
Thro'  that  wild  and  angry  sea  ? 
Yes  !  the  Boatman  of  the  Mumbles 
He  is  ready  for  the  fray. 
And  will  face  the  "  King  of  Terrors," 
To  despoil  him  of  his  prey. 

What  if  the  rolling  billows 

Are  like  Cambria's  mountains  high  ? 

He  is  buckling  on  his  life-belt 

To  rescue  or  to  die. 

One  thought  perhaps  is  given 

To  the  fond,  loved  ones  at  home. 

But  in  another  moment 

His  boat  is  in  the  foam. 

There  is  no  braying  trumpet. 

Or  noise  of  sounding  drum  ; 

For  the  crowd   of  trembling  gazers 

Are  with  awe  and  terror  dumb. 

For  like  ten  thousand  thunders. 

The  winds  and  waters  roar. 

As  the  life-boat  leaps  the  surges, 

And  dashes  from  the  shore. 


THE  MUMBLES  BOATMEN.  34T 

But  fearful  is  the  struggle, 
Old  Neptune  treads  the  deep, 
Great  God !  did  ever  mortal 
See  the  waves  so  wildly  leap  ? 
But  ne'er  did  England's  bravest — 
With  the  fierce,  stem  foe  before — 
Grip  his  sword,  as  did  the  Boatman 
Now  grips  his  bending  oar. 

But  furious  grows  the  tempest. 
And  the  waves  seem  mad  with  rage, 
No  man  that's  bom  of  woman 
Can  battle  with  them  wage ; 
For  see !  yon  mighty  breaker 
(Death  riding  on  its  crest) 
Hath  flung  the  noble  life-boat 
On  the  black  rocks  jagged  breast. 


And  four  of  those  brave  Boatmen 
Will  ne'er  see  home  again, 
And  weeping  wives  and  children 
Now  look  for  them  in  vain. 
But  in  the  future  ages. 
The  tale  it  will  be  told. 
Of  this  noble  deed  of  daring 
Done  in  the  days  of  old. 

Yes  1  men  shall  tell  the  story. 
And  boys  will  hear  with  pride. 
How  at  the  call  of  Duty 
Those  glorious  heroes  died. 
And  maids  will  pray  for  lovers 
As  gallant  and  as  brave 
As  the  Boatmen  of  the  Mumbles, 
Who  perished  for  to  save. 

Feb.  2Uhy  1883  C.  D.  M. 


THE   EISTEDDFOD. 


I  have  been  asked  by  my  friend,  the  Editor  of  the  Red 
DragoUj  to  link  together  a  few  remarks  on  our  great  National 
Institutions,  and  though  many  of  these  may  appear  second- 
hand to  some  parts  of  the  Principality,  and,  even  where  not 
known,  may  possess  little  value,  he  has  over-ruled  my  objections, 
and  must  bear  the  penalty.  If  any  one  desire  an  illustration 
of  the  Welsh  proverb  that  a  country  is  stronger  than  a  lord,  he 
will  find  it  here  in  an  institution  which  exists  by  the  will  of  the 
people,  and  embodies  their  sentiments.  In  some  degree  the 
Eisteddfod  is  an  exception  to  most  national  gatherings.  It  is 
valuable  as  a  recreation  for  all  classes ;  but  it  has  a  still  higher 
•claim  as  an  influence  in  education,  and  a  means  of  developing 
the  abilities  of  our  countrymen.  I  might  illustrate  this  with  a 
number  of  gratifying  instances,  but  will  be  content  with  one  of 
the  latest  associated  with  Glamorgan.  At  the  Eisteddfod  of 
1863,  held  in  Swansea,  I  had  the  honour  of  being  one  of  the 
adjudicators,  and  received  upwards  of  one  hundred  manuscripts 
for  the  prize  offered  for  the  best  chorale  or  hymn.  The 
■composition  to  which  the  prize  was  awarded  was  so  far  above 
the  average  that  I  was  anxious  to  know  something  of  the 
<jomposer,  and  when  it  was  ascertained  that  he  was  a  young 
Welshman  living  in  America,  I  suggested  that  some  means 
should  be  taken  for  his  education  in  England.  The  result  was 
that,  by  the  influence  of  a  most  worthy  and  patriotic  friend, 
known  all  through  Wales  as  "  Gohebydd,"  some  Welshmen  in 
America  formed  themselves  into  a  committee,  collected  upwards 
of  2,000  dollars,  and  sent  the  young  man  to  the  Royal  Academy 
of  Music,  where  I  had  the  pleasiu-e  of  introducing  him  to  the 
late  Sir  Stemdale  Bennett.  I  may  add  that  after  studjring  for 
some  years  in  the  Royal  Academy  he  took  the  degree  of  Doctor 
of  Music,  in  1878,  at  the  University  of  Cambridge.  That  young 
man  is  Dr.  Joseph  Parry,  who,  since  then,  has  produced  the 
oratorio  of  ETnanuelj  a  work  so  scholarly,  and  so  well  written, 
as  to  justify  the  belief  that  at  some  future  day  he  will  add  to 
the  reputation  he  has  already  won.  If  the  Eisteddfod  has 
effected  no  other  result,  the  story  of  Joseph  Parry  will  be  quite 
£ufficient  to  justify  its  existence. 


THE  EISTEDDFOD.  349^ 

Some  of  the  ceremonies  of  the  Eisteddfod  may  appear 
strange  or  grotesque ;  but  every  old  custom  might  be  called 
ridiculous  from  a  certain  point  of  view,  and  if  we  are  to  judge 
from  various  statements  I  fear  we  are  becoming  sadly 
unromantic,  for  not  long  ago  a  London  paper,  alluding  to  the 
opening  of  the  Assize  Commission,  condemned  it  as  a  "piece  of 
tomfoolery,"  and  in  speaking  of  the  Highlanders  on  Wimbledon 
camp,  said  "their  amusements  terminated  with  that  dismal 
parody  of  hilarity,  called  a  Scotch  reel,  when  eight  kilted  men 
danced  gravely,  until  they  were  wearied,  to  the  sound  of  the- 
bagpipes."  Well,  with  all  our  faults  at  the  Eisteddfod,  we  are 
not  yet  come  to  that,  A  French  author  once  described  England 
"  as  a  country  with  fifty  religions  and  one  sauce."  This  kind' 
of  writing  is  harmless,  and  maybe  amusing ;  but  when  a  writer,, 
under  the  pretext  of  criticising  the  Eisteddfod,  abuses  a  nation 
and  holds  it  up  to  ridicule,  I  think  we  are  justified  in 
protesting.  In  the  pages  of  a  newly-founded  evening  paper 
several  articles  have  appeared  in  reference  to  Wales — not  only 
ungenerous,  but  incorrect.  The  purpose  may  be  diplomatic  as 
a  means  of  advertisement,  and,  by  creating  irritation,  attracting 
attention  to  a  new  periodical.  The  writer  has  honoured 
Wales  with  a  visit,  and  made  some  remarkable  discoveries^ 
According  to  him  the  Welsh  appeared  to  be  in  a  very  sad  and 
benighted  condition,  and  almost  destitute  of  everything  ta 
render  life  endurable.  The  writer  said :  "  They  are  a  dreary 
people,  fond  of  going  to  chapel,  and  without  any  sense  of 
humour,  and  even  their  music  is  dull."  As  for  the  music  of 
Wales  being  dull,  the  writer  surely  could  never  have  listened 
to  the  inspiriting  strains  of  the  "March  of  the  Men  of 
Harlech."  As  a  matter  of  course  he  notices  the  Eisteddfod, 
ridicules  the  idea  of  its  antiquity,  and  says  it  was  "  only  known 
within  the  last  few  decades  (!)  as  a  sort  of  convivial  meeting,  at 
an  inn,  of  a  few  social  people,  who  were,  or  thought  they  were, 
song-writers."  From  this,  it  is  evident  he  is  not  well  up  in 
history,  and  might  be  reminded  that  national  gatherings  in 
Wales  were  known  long  before  the  Norman  conquest,  and  that 
others  of  a  more  recent  date  were  summoned  by  Royal 
Commission  in  the  reigns  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Queen  Elizabeth. 
Among  the  objections  brought  against  the  Eisteddfod,  one  is 
that  its  nationality  acts  injuriously  by  excluding  the  English 
language ;  but  this  is  at  once  disproved  by  the  programmes  of 
the  Eisteddfod,  which  contain  several  prizes  for  essays  written 
in  English.  On  the  other  hand,  so  long  as  Welsh  continues  to 
be  the  language  of  a  peaceful  and  loyal  people,  there  can  be  no 
reason  why  they,  like  others,  should  not  be  allowed  to  obtain 
the  advantages  of  education  in  a  way  most  congenial  to  their 
feelings. 

Then  we  are  told  that  nationality  is  an  absutdli^  ydl  \Xifc 


360  THE  EISTEDDFOD. 

Nineteenth  Century.  To  this  I  will  merely  reply  that,  if 
nationality  be  considered  a  virtue  in  Scotland,  I  cannot  under- 
stand why  it  should  be  condemned  in  Wales.  A  few  years  since 
the  Marquess  of  Lome,  at  a  public  banquet,  said,  "  It  is  right  to 
;8timulate  the  feeling  of  nationality,  which  ought  to  exist, 
because  it  contributes  to  the  strength  of  the  empire.''  But 
the  Scotchman  is  peculiarly  fortunate,  and  can  boast  that  he 
has  lived  to  become  a  subject  of  envy  to  an  English  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer,  who  once  regretted  he  had  not  been  bom  in 
Scotland.  By  way  of  illustrating  his  remark  he  related  a  story 
of  George  III.,  who  was  rescued  from  a  mob  by  a  Mr. 
Bedingfield.  The  King  sent  for  him  next' day,  and  in  order  to 
show  his  gratitude,  asked  what  he  could  do  for  him,  when 
Mr.  Bedingfield,  in  reply,  said,  "  I  wish  to  heaven  your 
Majesty  would  make  me  a  Scotchman."  In  one  of  his  volumes 
Mr.  Froude  called  attention  to  the  various  characters 
mentioned  by  Shakespeare — among  others,  the  Welshman 
Fluellen,  whom  he  describes  as  "hot-blooded,  voluble,  and 
argumentative,  yet  most  brave,  most  loyal,  and  most  honour- 
able. Among  his  thousand  characters,"  continues  our 
historian,  "there  is  not  one  whom  Shakespeare  has  treated 
more  tenderly,  or  with  a  more  loving  irony." 

There  is  one  subject  in  connection  with  the  Eisteddfod  on 
which,  I  presume,  there  can  be  little  difference  of  opinion, 
and  that  is  music.  In  this  respect  the  county  of  Glamorgan 
is  especially  fortunate.  To  its  valleys  we  owe  the  birth  of 
many  charming  melodies,  while  the  fame  of  its  choirs  has 
long  since  become  a  proverb.  The  history  of  Wales  will 
always  be  associated  with  the  national  instrument,  the  harp, 
and  among  those  \^ho  have  endeavoured  to  preserve  it  no  one 
is  more  deserving  of  honour  than  Lady  Llanover.  But  I  should 
consider  myself  guilty  of  an  omission  if  I  failed  to  offer  my 
tribute  to  one  to  whose  patriotic  labours  Wales  is  greatly 
indebted — I  allude  to  the  late  Miss  Jane  Williams,  of 
Aberpergwm.*  Her  volume  of  melodies  must  always  prove 
a  source  of  pleasure  to  all  interested  in  national  music,  and 
will  be  the  means  of  preserving  her  name  in  the  grateful 
memories  of  her  countrymen.  The  popularity  of  music 
among  the  working  classes  of  the  Principality  has  given  rise 
to  various  theories.  This  is  easy  of  explanation.  The  love  of 
melody  lies  deep  in  the  hearts  of  the  population ;  almost  every 
place  of  worship  is  a  training  school,  but  the  foundation  of 
choral  music  in  Wales  is  the  religious  sentiment  of  the 
people.     Popular  as  music  is  in  the  present  day,  it  has  not 

*  We  have  much  pleasure  in  stating  that,  thanks  to  the  courtesy  of  the  worthy 
Squire  of  Aberpergwm,  an  admirable  portrait  of  Miss  Williams  has  been 
obtained,  and  will  appear  with  a  memoir  in  an  earlj  number  of  the  Red  Drvf^on. 

Ifin. 


THE  EISTEDDFOD.  351 

always  been  so.  In  1814  it  had  so  far  declined  that  singing  in 
parts  had  almost  disappeared.  At  the  Beaumaris  Eisteddfod, 
when  Her  Majesty,  then  Princess  Victoria,  was  present,  there 
was  not  a  single  Welsh  choir,  and  the  only  native  vocalists 
were  some  penillion  singers. 

Choral  music  appears  to  have  been  known  at  a  very  remote 
period,  and  allusions  to  it  occur  in  the  old  Welsh  Triads^  which 
distinctly  mention  "  the  three  choirs  of  Britain."     But  how  far 
the  Triads  are  to  be  accepted  as  a  guide  in  matters  of  history 
I  must  leave  others  to  decide.     It  would  be  of  great  interest  if 
we  were  able  to  gain  some  information  about  the  music  of 
those  early  days — whether  they  sang  in  unison  or  in  harmony, 
I  therefore  suggest  that  the  Committee  should  offer  a  prize  at 
the  next  Eisteddfod  for  an   essay   on   the   subject;  it  would 
be    valuable    to    antiquarians    no    less    than    to    Welshmen 
generally.       It    might    also    throw    a     light    upon    ancient 
notation,  and  decide  the  question  whether  the  inhabitants  were 
acquainted  with  the  art  of  combining  sounds  so  as  to  produce 
what  we  call  harmony ;  for  it  is  evident,  if  they  were,  they 
must  have  had  some  means  of  writing  music,  and  by  a  notation 
differing  from  that  used  by  the  old  Koman  Church.     Some 
authorities  deny  that  the  ancients  knew  anything  of  harmony ; 
but  Mr.  Chappell  declares  not  only  his  belief  in  it,  but  that  he 
is  able,  by  means  of  instruments,  to  prove  it  was  known  in 
Egypt  as  early  as  the  building  of  the  first  Pyramid.     If  this 
should  be  true,  Wales,  as  regards  antiquity,  has  a  formidable 
rival.     Some  time  since,  at  Swansea,  I  gave  a  lecture,  in  which 
I  enunciated  my  views  concerning  the  Welsh  musical  notation 
in  the  so-called  MSS.  of  the  Eleventh  Century  in  the  British 
Museum.     This  theme  will  be  discussed  at  greater  length  in  a 
lecture  I  purpose  giving  in  April  before  the  Society  of  Fine  Arts  in 
London,  when  it  is  my  intention  to  show  that  these  documents 
must  be  regarded  with  grave  suspicion,  and  as  unquestionably 
belonging  to  a  much  later  date  than  the  Eleventh  Century. 
This  opinion  may  be  expected  to  meet  with  a  great  deal  of 
opposition,  as  it  seems  a  special  weakness  of  some  people  to 
disallow  Wales  any  merit  in  questions  of  music.     One  of  their 
favourite  theories  is  to  ascribe  Welsh  music  to  an  Irish  origin ; 
but  I    may  fairly  claim    the  credit   of   having  exposed   this 
absurdity  at  Swansea,  by  proving  that  there  is  no  ancient  Irish 
notation  in  existence,  and  that  therefore  the  Welsh  could  not 
jwssibly  have  derived  that  of  the  Eleventh  Century  MSS.  from 
Ireland. 

And  now  with  regard  to  the  important  Eisteddfod  of  1 883 
I  would  state,  as  I  have  stated  with  respect  to  preceding 
gatherings,  that  the  words  of  a  learned  and  most  patriotic 
Welshman,  the  author  of  the  Literature  of  the  Kymry,  cannot 
be  too  earnestly  followed.     "  The  only  hope,"  heTRtvte'^^''''  csJl  a«s: 


352  THE  EISTEDDFOD. 

obtaining  attention  to  the  just  claims  of  the  Principality  is  bjr 
appealing  to  the  convictions  and  sympathies  of  the  reading- 
part  of  the  English  population,  and  that  we  should  no  longer 
bear  the  reproach  of  boasting  the  literary  wealth  which  we 
never  produce  for  the  public  in  an  intelligible  form ;  for  how 
can  we  reasonably  expect  our  neighbours  to  appreciate  our 
literature  until  they  are  made  acquainted  with  it  in  a  form 
which  they  can  understand  ? "  In  harmony  with  this  we  have 
the  Committee  of  the  National  Eisteddfod  of  1883  announcing 
the  great  prize  a  "  History  of  Welsh  Literature  "  in  English  or 
Welsh.  Stephens  wrote  his  Literature  of  the  Kymry  in 
English,  and  the  History  of  Welsh  Literature  should  be  also  in 
English,  to  show  the  English  world  the  literary  achievements  of 
the  past  centuries.  I  may  add  that  whatever  be  their  relative 
merits,  the  Scotch  and  Irish  enjoy  one  great  advantage  over  the 
Welsh  in  their  knowledge  of  the  English  language.  If  men 
like  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Robert  Bums,  and  Thomas  Moore  had 
written  in  the  Gaelic  or  Celtic  tongue  their  works  would  have 
remained  unknown  to  this  day,  and  their  countries  would  have 
been  deprived  of  the  glory  which  their  genius  has  imperishably 
conferred  uiK)n  them. 

Brdjley  Richards. 


GEORGE  BORROVV  IN  WALES. 


It  is  probable,  if  not  certain,  that  there  is  not  a  living 
Englishman  who  knows,  by  foot  and  eye,  the  geography  of 
Wales  as  did  that  singular  man,  the  late  George  Borrow,  for 
there  is  not  a  tortuous  mountain  pass  or  lonely  glen  which  he 
did  not  thread,  or  a  mountain  top  which  he  did  not  reach.  And 
this  was  only  natural  to  a  man  of  the  antecedents  of  the  former 
smuggling  distributor  of  Bibles  in  Spain ;  it  was  in  perfect 
consonance  with  his  well-known  idiosyncrasies.  On  the 
numerous  tours  which  he  took,  he  avoided  all  places  where  men 
and  women  most  do  congregate,  and  consorted,  if  at  all,  only 
with  unlettered  rustics  and  gipsies.  In  the  main  he  preferred 
the  society  of  his  own  thoughts,  and  the  luxury  of  going  on  his 
way  a  self-inclosed,  taciturn,  solitary,  dreamy,  deep-musing 
wanderer.  The  reason  he  was  wont  to  assign  for  this  long 
cherished  preference  was  that  he  seldom  found  any  originality 
among  what  are  called  educated,  or,  more  correctly  speaking, 
instructed  people,  for  he  maintained  that  attempting  to  brinff 
out  of  some  folks  what  had  never  been  put  into  them  was 
labour  lost,  and  ended  in  "vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit."  Would 
to  Providence  that,  in  these  days  of  many  devices,  some  ingenious 
man  would  invent  a  brain  taster  or  tester,  such  as  cheese- 
mongers or  such  as  intending  buyers  of  profeaaedly  improved 
land  in  America  used  to  save  themselves  from  being  misled  by 
the  inviting-looking  surface.  To  bring  nothing  out  of  nothing 
is  a  species  of  production  which  requires  a  larger  government 
grant  than  it  will  ever  be  in  the  power  of  any  Alinistry  to  make. 
**I  never  care,"  Borrow  would  observe,  "to  converse  with 
educated  persons,  for  I  find  at  once  from  their  first  utterances 
what  books,  reviews,  and  newspapers  they  read,  and  why  should 
I  endure  the  infliction  of  their  coarsely  hashed  up  dishes  out  of 
other  men's  well  cooked,  substantial  joints.  Give  me  to  talk  to 
peasants,  untutored  except  by  their  own  unaided  senses ;  whose 
observations  on  such  men  and  women  as  they  have  had 
opportunities  of  knowing,  and  such  scenes,  natural  and  human^ 
as  they  have  witnessed,  are  as  fresh  as  a  May  morning,  and  as 
free  from  imitation  as  are  the  hills  and  mountains  of  Wale%^ 

X 


354       GEOEGE  BORROW  IN  WALES. 

which  have  shaped  themselves  after  no  stereotyped  pattern. 
There  is  something  to  be  learned  of  them,  but  little  or  nothing' 
from  garbled  reports  of  the  sayings  of  thinking  men." 

Abergwesyn,  situated  about  five  miles  above  Llanwrtyd 
Wells,  was  one  of  his  favourite  haunts ;  and  there  is  one  pool  in 
the  IiTon  which  he  patronised  as  the  only  one  fitted  for  the 
laving  of  his  titanic  frame,  and  which  he  seems  to  have  regarded 
in  the  same  favourable  light  as  Naaman  the  Syrian  did  the 
rivers  Abana  and  Pharpar,  which  he  thought,  and  small  blame  to 
him — "  better  than  all  the  waters  of  Israel."  This  Abergwesyn, 
which  by  interpretation  means  the  confluence  of  the  rivers 
Irvon  and  Gwesyn,  is,  for  compliment's  sake,  called  a  village, 
and  consists  of  the  Grouse  Inn,  two  churches — one  dedicated 
to  St.  David,  the  other  to  Michael  the  Archangel — a  Dissenting 
chapel,  and  a  few  scattered  cottages.  Why  these  two  churches, 
which  are  built  at  the  extremities  of  the  parishes  for  whose 
service  thev  were  intended,  should  be  erected  so  near  each  other 
cannot  now  be  ascertained.  The  place  is  lonely  enough  to 
satisfy  a  hermit.  The  hills  around  it  seem  to  have  agreed  to 
retire  to  some  distance  in  order  to  show  that  when  it  pleases 
them  they  can,  by  putting  their  old  heads  together,  form  a 
plain.  At  a  little  distance  above  the  village  the  hills  on  each 
side  of  the  river  become  boldly  precipitous,  leaving  little  more 
room  at  their  base  than  suffices  for  the  Irvon  to  make  its  bed. 
In  the  sides  of  these  rocky  accUvities  the  torrents  have  dug 
deep  fissures,  along  which  they  rush,  roar,  dash  and  foam  on 
their  way  to  the  Irvon,  in  which  there  is  a  spot  much  frequented 
by  visitors,  and  called  the  Wolves'  Leaps.  Here  the  river  has 
tunneled  its  way  through  the  slate  rocks,  scooping  them  in 
several  places  into  huge  cauldrons  in  which  the  water  boils  and 
foams  uproariously,  impatient  of  the  temj^orary  obstruction  to 
its  onward  course.  A  visit  to  this  place  during  a  heavy  flood 
would  more  than  amply  repay  the  lover  of  natural  scenery. 

Some  dozen  or  more  years  ago  I  had  occasion  to  visit  the 
upper  part  of  the  Teify  Valley  in  fulfilment  of  a  couple  of 
pubhc  engagements.  Being  very  desirous  of  seeing  Llan- 
ddewi-brefi,  which  lay  in  my  route,  and,  not  knowing  the 
nearest  way  to  this  celebrated  Cardiganshire  village,  it  struck 
me  I  could  not  do  better  than  consult  a  sheep  farmer  whom  I 
had  long  known  as  a  former  occupier  of  the  Grouse  Inn,  and 
obtain  from  him  directions  how  to  reach  the  place.  During 
his  long  stay  at  this  mountain  hostelry  he  had  had  Borrow  as  a 
guest  more  than  once,  and  the  many  accounts  which  he  gave 
me  of  his  conversations  had  whetted  to  razor-edge  my  curiosity 
to  see  this  unique  specimen  of  a  "  forked  radish."  No  sooner 
had  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  farmer's  house,  and  before  I 
had  time  to  tell  my  errand  than  he  said  that  Borrow  was  at 
the  Grouse  Inn  then. 


GEORGE  BORROW  IN  WALES.  355 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  added,  "  he  was  there  last  night,  for  I  had 
a  long  chat  with  him.  Shall  Billy  boy  (his  nephew  and 
factotum)  run  up  and  see  if  he  is  still  there  ?" 

I  thanked  him  ;  and  the  messenger,  mounted  on  a  swift-footed 
mountain  pony,  was  soon  back,  the  distance  being  only  a  mile, 
but  bringing  the  disappointing  news  that  Borrow  had  been  gone 
about  two  hours,  directing  his  steps  towards  Twm  Sion  Catti's 
cave. 

There  was  nothing  now  to  do  but  to  make  all  haste  to 
reach  Llanddewi.  My  informant  knew  every  inch  of  the  route 
I  was  to  take.  He  named  a  farmhouse,  about  halfway  to  the 
village,  whose  occupier  I  was  to  ask  to  point  out  to  me  the 
most  direct  way  to  it.  I  was  fortunate  to  find  the  man  at  home, 
and  he  very  readily  and  cheerfully  walked  with  me  about  two 
miles,  guiding  me  down  and  up  the  steep  acclivities  of  the 
Camddwr  glen,  which  we  crossed  in  a  diagonal  direction. 
When  we  reached  the  crest  of  its  western  side,  we  came  in  sight 
of  a  flat,  boggy  hollow,  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  long,  if 
not  more,  in  connection  with  which  my  guide  informed  me  of 
a  curious  custom, 

**  What  we  in  this  part  of  the  country  call  a  Funeral  road,  "said 
he,  "  passes  directly  over  this  peaty  hollow  to  Llanddewi.  It  is 
called  Pant  yr  ymryson  (*  The  hollow  of  Contest ')  and  is  said 
to  have  been  so  named  by  the  people  of  *  auld  lang  syne '  from 
its  having  been  the  scene  of  competitive  strength  among 
bearers  at  funerals.  Any  four  men  who  could,  without  change, 
carry  a  heavy  oak  bier,  with  its  heavier  burden,  from  the  eastern 
to  the  western  end  of  this  hollow  won  the  belt,  and  made  a 
name  for  themselves  among  these  hardy  mountaineers.  It  was 
the  very  utmost  that  the  strongest  men  could  do,  and  when 
other  shoulders  took  the  burden,  they  were  not  sorry  ;  and  for 
days,  aye  weeks,  after,  their  shoulder  blades  ached  not  a  little. 
It  was  a  feat  whose  repetition  none  coveted." 

Here  I  took  leave  of  my  guide,  and,  as  I  had  been  directed, 
keeping  my  eye  fixed  on  a  small  but  conspicuous- enough  knoll, 
at  the  furthest  end  of  the  hollow,  as  a  goal,  I  walked  along  the 
*' funeral  road,"  but  not  without  difficulty,  for  where  the  ground 
was  not  sodden  with  wet  it  was  sticky  like  paste,  and  as  I 
trudged  wearily  along  I  felt,  though  unburdened,  that  for  want 
of  an  inch  of  fiim  foothold  the  bearers,  heavily  laden,  must  have 
been  possessed  of  prodigious  strength  before  they  could  have 
performed  the  feat  already  described.  On  reaching  my  mark  I 
found  the  commencement  of  a  wheel  track,  which  by-and-bye 
assumed  the  form  of  a  rough  mountain  road  leading  directly  to 
the  village  which  I  had  so  great  a  desire  to  see.  Alas  I  it  was 
nothing  in  itself;  its  celebrity  being  entirely  due  to  two  circum- 
stances— one  that  an  ecclesiastical  synod  was  once  held  here  Qbt» 
which  St.  David  was  present,  the   other  t\iat  Do^insX  "Bj^V^ssA 

X  2 


356  GEORGE  BORROW  IN  WALES. 

was  "  persuaded  to  be  a  Christian  "  in  the  church  where 
ministered  on  that  occasion — a  very  memorable  one — that  pre- 
eminently good  man,  GriflBth  Jones,  of  Llanddowrowr. 

The  moment  I  entered  the  kitchen  qf  the  village  inn  I  spotted 
my  man,  for  he  was  8ui  generis^  made  of  rare  material.  After 
one  hasty  survey  I  turned  out  of  the  room,  followed  by  the  land- 
lady, who,  supposing  I  was  not  satisfied  with  the  kitchen 
accommodation,  asked  if  she  should  light  a  fire  for  me  in  the 
parlour.  I  declined  her  kind  offer  and  told  her  my  reason  for 
leaving  the  room  was  my  wish  to  learn  how  long  the  tall  stranger 
had  been  in  the  house. 

"  About  half  an  hour,"  was  the  answer.  And,  after  telling  her 
that  he  was  the  most  extraordinary  man  that  had  ever  been 
under  her  roof,  I  returned  to  the  kitchen.     Ordering  oat  cake, 
cheese,  butter,  and  a  pint  of  home-brewed  ale,  I  had  time,  while 
this  refreshment  was  being  placed  on  the  table,  to  take  stock  of  the 
company  present,  which  consisted  of  three  or  four  respectable 
farmers,  as  I  took  them  to  be,  and  of  him  who,  I  felt  sure,  could 
be  no  other  than  George  Borrow.     He  sat   in  one  comer  of  the 
room,  with  a  small  round  table  before  him,  on  which,  beside  his 
glass  of  grog,  he  rested  his  right  elbow,  in  whose  capacious 
extremity  was  buried  his  chin.  While  munching  the  solids  of  my 
luncheon,  lubricated  at  intervals   with  sips  of  the  nut-brown 
"  barley  brew,"  I  cast  now  and   again  sundry  furtive,  cautious 
glances  at  the  formidable  Anak,  and  they  were  invariably  met 
with  scowling,  savage  looks,  which  I  willingly  confess   required 
some  nerve  and  pluck  to  encounter.     While  I  was   discussing 
my  refreshment  the  farmers  present  were,  to  my  unspeakable 
surprise  and,  I  must  add,  delight,  discussing  the  merits  of  '*  The 
Essays  and  Reviews."     Borrow,  who  had  added  to  his  numerous 
linguistic  attainments  a  book  knowledge  of  Welsh,  seemed   to 
be  a  very  interested  listener  to  the  observations  of  the  village 
critics,  though  he  opened  not  his  mouth. 

At  length  I  mustered  courage  enough  to  ask  him  if  he  was  at 
Abergwesyn  the  previous  night.  Pulling  his  narrow-brimmed, 
tall  box-hilt  over  his  brow,  with,  as  I  thought,  an  uncalled-for 
expenditure  of  force,  after  taking  a  good  mouthful  of  his 
grog  and  scowling  more  savagely  than  ever,  he  asked  me  in  a 
deep-toned  voice,  and  with  a  prolonged  emphasised  enunciation 
of  every  word,  "  What  is  your  reason  for  making  the  inquiry  ?" 
Nettled  by  this,  to  me,  novel  style  of  catechising  a  poor,  harm- 
less, wayfaring  man,  I  answered  him  in  the  same  grandiose 
fashion,  "  Curiosity ;  for,  having  read  all  the  books  which  IMr. 
Borrow  has  published,  I  was  very  anxious  to  see  him  in  the 
flesh." 

Another  and  a  harder  pull  of  the  hat  over  the  brow,  a  final 
pull  at  the  grog,  and  then,  by  way  of  answer  to  my  question,  be 
said,  "  I  was."      He  thereupon   got  up  to  his  full  height  of 


GEORGE  BORROW  IN  WALES.  357 

six  feet  four  inches,  a  broad-shouldered,  muscular,  bony  man, 
without  an  ounce  of  useless  flesh  on  his  spare,  but  finely-formed, 
frame.  Flinging  over  his  shoulder  a  black  leather  carpet  bag, 
to  which  was  attached  a  broad  leather  strap,  he  grasped  with  his 
left  hand  (about  the  size  of  a  shoulder  of  small  Welsh  mutton)  a 
huge,  umbrageous,  gig  umbrella  and  a  formidable  stick,  took 
off  nis  hat,  which  till  now  he  had  kept  on,  made  a  bow  as  grand 
and  sweeping  as  the  size  of  the  room  admitted,  and  stalked 
forth  with  giant  strides  into  the  open  air  to  resume  his 
wanderings  in  quest  this  time  of  improved  health. 

He  was  a  man  worth  seeing,  and,  once  seen,  was  in  no  danger 
of  being  forgotten.  The  forehead  was  sparingly  developed,  but 
it  was  knit  into  the  hardness  of  granite.  The  mouth  was  the 
firmest  and  most  compressed  I  ever  saw,  the  nose  being  of  fine 
shape,  but  formidable  size.  His  eye  was  cold,  clear,  and  pain- 
fully searching.  He  was,  with  the  exception^  of  Irving,  the 
finest  man-animal  I  ever  beheld,  and  the  completest  incaiiiation 
of  physical  and  moral  courage.  He  could  spell  the  word  **  fear  " 
in  many  languages,  ancient  and  modem,  but  as  to  what  it  meant 
he  knew  no  more  than  a  blind  man  knows  the  difference  between 
black  and  white. 

No  sooner  was  he  gone  than  the  symposiasts  began  to  over- 
whelm me  with  questions  about  this  great  unknown,  to  which  I 
was  obliged  to  reply  in  the  most  condensed  form,  for  it  was  full 
time  for  me  to  resume  my  walk,  and  at  a  quickened  pace,  or 
arrive  too  late  at  the  place  where  I  was  expected  to  make  my 
appearance.  On  the  evening  of  the  third  day  after  my  encounter 
with  the  polyglot  pedestrian  I  was  thankful  to  find  myself  in 
time  for  tea  and  trout  (generally  to  be  got  during  the  season) 
at  the  Red  Lion,  Pont-rhyd-fendigaid,  then  kept  by  a  Cornish- 
man  called  Kemp.  Years  ago  I  often  stayed  here,  where  could 
always  be  found  "  good  entertainment  for  man  and  horse."  The 
parlour,  which  I  never  occupied,  was  fitted  up  after  the  English 
fashion ;  but  I  had  many  reasons  for  preferring  the  kitchen, 
which  was  roomy  and  comparatively  lofty,  and  furnished  with 
oak  shelves,  heavily  laden  with  dishes  and  plates  of  every  shape 
and  colour,  while  on  many  hooks  were  suspended  jugs 
of  every  pattern  and  capacity.  Close  by  ticked  the  old 
family  clock,  softly,  but  audibly,  like  the  whisperings 
of  youthful  lovers.  The  fire,  made  out  of  large 
square  peats  cut  in  the  Teify  turbary  close  by,  was 
placed  on  the  hearth,  raised  about  eight  inches  above  the  floor, 
and  sending  up  the  capacious  chimney,  not  the  murky,  sooty, 
dirty  smoke  of  bituminous  coal,  but  the  blue,  thin,  transparent, 
vegetable  smoke  of  the  poets,  whose  wreathy  columns,  inter- 
twining themselves  with  the  branches  of  an  old  oak  by  the  side 
of  a  thatched  cottage,  are  so  suggestive  and  promissory  of  reot 
and  comfort  to  the  toiling  labourer  trudging  'v^oxSq  Voo^fc  ^ 


358       GEOKGE  BORROW  IN  WALES. 

eventide.  By  the  fire  was  a  high-backed  settee,  my  chosen  part 
of  which  was  next  to  the  fire,  where  I  had  the  benefit  of  an  arm- 
rest and  close  contact  with  the  peat  ashes  so  welcome  to  cold 
feet  and  ankles.  I  inquired  of  the  landlord  if  a  gentleman  of 
Borrow's  make  and  mien  had  been  lately  seen  in  the  neigh 
bourhood,  and  he  answered,  "  Yes,  sir,  he  was  here  last  night.'* 

"  Where  did  he  spend  the  evening  and  how  ?"  I  asked. 

"Seeing  that  he  bore  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman  the 
missus  asked  if  she  should  light  a  fire  for  him  in  the  parlour^ 
and  he  said  no,  that  he  much  preferred  the  kitchen,  and  he  sat 
where  you  do,  with  his  feet  in  the  peat  ashes." 

"  Did  he  talk  to  anyone  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Talk,"  said  the  landlord  in  a  tone  of  surprise ;  "  I  should 
think  he  did." 

«  To  whom  did  he  talk  ?" 

**  To  the  miners  and  other  common  people  who  drop  in  here 
of  an  evening  f5r  a  chat  and  a  mug  of  beer." 

Such  is  all  the  little  account  I  have  to  give  of  George  Borrow, 
who  will  be  seen  no  more  in  these  parts.  Requieacat  %n  Pace. 

Tal-A-hen. 


WELSH  POETRY  IN  ENGLISH  DRESS. 


THE  SWAN. 


By  Da\'ydd  ap  Gwilym. 

1/^th  Century. 

Translated  by  Johnes. 

Thou  Swan,  upon  the  waters  bright, 
In  lime  hued  vest,  like  Abbot  white, 
Bird  of  the  spray,  to  whom  is  given 
The  raiment  of  a  child  of  heaven. 
Bird  of  broad  hand  in  youth,  proud  age 
*Syvaddon  was  thy  heritage. 
Two  gifts  in  thee,  fair  bird,  unite 
To  glean  the  fish  in  yonder  lake. 
And  bending  o'er  yon  hills  thy  flight 
A  glance  at  earth  and  sky  to  take ; 
Oh !  'tis  a  noble  task  to  ride 
The  billows,  countless  as  the  snow  ; 
Thy  long  fair  neck,  thou  thing  of  pride. 
Thy  hook  to  catch  the  fish  below. 
Thou  guardian  of  the  fountain  head 
By  whom  Sy  vaddon's  waves  are  fed. 
Above  the  dingle's  rugged  streams, 
Intensely  white  thy  raiment  gleams. 
Thy  shirt  like  crystal  tissue  seems, 
Thy  doublet  and  thy  waiscoat  bright 
Like  thousand  lilies  meet  the  sight. 
Thy  jacket  is  of  the  white  rose  ; 
Thy  gown  the  woodbine  flowers  compose. 
Thou  glory  of  the  birds  of  air. 
Thou  bird  of  heaven,  0 !  hear  my  prayer. 
And  visit  in  her  dwelling  place 
A  lady  of  illustrious  race  : 

'Llangone  Lake. 


360  WELSH  POETEY  IN  ENGLISH  DEESS. 

Haste  on  an  embassy  to  her 
My  kind  white-bosomed  messenger, 
Upon  the  waves  thy  course  begin, 
And  then  at  Cemaes  take  to  shore, 
And  there  through  all  the  land  explore, 
For  the  bright   maid  of  Tal  y  Ujm 
The  lady  fair  as  the  moon's  flame 
And  call  her  Paragon  by  name  ; 
The  chamber  of  the  beauty  seek. 
Alight  with  footsteps  slow  and  meek. 
Salute  her  and  to  her  reveal, 
The  cares  and  agonies  I  feel. 
And  in  return  bring  to  my  ear 
Messages  of  hope  my  heart  to  cheer. 
Oh !  may  no  danger  hover  near. 
Bird  of  majestic  head  in  flight 
Thy  service  I  will  well  requite. 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS. 


All  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men  has  been  styled  by  its 
author,  Mr.  Walter  Besant,  "  an  impossible  story."  There  is, 
however,  not  much  of  the  impossible,  whatever  there  may  be 
of  the  improbable,  about  it.  The  heroine,  Angela  Marsden 
Messenger,  possessed  of  almost  all  "  the  wealth  of  Ormus  and 
of  Ind,"  takes  into  her  head  the  queer  notion  that  her  being 
born  so  rich  is  one  of  the  most  unfortunate  things  that  could 
have  happened  to  her.  Upon  this  paradox  the  story  is  bit  by 
bit  built.  Afraid  of  being  besieged  by  the  great  army  of 
charity-mongers  and  other  humbugs,  she  resolves,  after  leaving 
College,  to  settle  down  incognito  in  the  East  End  of  Ix)ndon, 
where,  as  a  ]\Iiss  Kennedy,  she  sets  up  a  dressmaker's  estab- 
lishment, which  she  conducts  in  direct  violation  of  all  the  known 
laws  of  iwlitical  economy.  She  pays  her  girls  the  highest 
wages  of  any  in  Stepney,  and,  moreover,  provides  them  with 
abundant  food,  books,  music,  dancing,  and  exercises  of  an  even 
more  pronounced  gymnastic  character.  At  the  boarding-house 
where  she  stays  she  makes  the  acquaintance  of  the  son  of  a 
sergeant  in  a  regiment  of  the  line,  a  young  fellow  named  Harry 
Goslett,  the  prot^gS  of  a  Lord  Jocelyn  le  Breton,  who  out  of 
sheer  whim  had  brought  up  and  educated  the  youth,  as  became 
a  perfect  specimen  of  the  jeunesse  doree.  Just  before  Harry's 
boarding-house  days,  his  aristocratic  patron  tells  him  of  his 
mean  birth,  in  consequence  of  which  disclosure  the  former 
resolves  to  go  back  to  "  the  people,"  from  whose  ranks  he  had 
sprung.  To  the  dressmaking  establishment,  which  has  a  piano, 
Harry,  who  is  a  violinist,  becomes  an  invaluable  adjunct.  It  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  he  falls  head  and  ears  in  love  with 
the  charming  proprietress,  for  whose  sake  he  consents  to  engage 
himself  as  a  cabinet-maker,  at  two  pounds  a  week,  to  the  great 
firm  of  Messenger  and  Co.,  the  makers  of  the  beverage  known 
as  "  Messenger's  Entire,"  in  which  firm  Angela  is  the  sole 
partner.  Harry,  however,  is  utterly  ignorant  of  the  fact,  and 
continues  so  even  up  to  the  very  evening  of  the  day  of  his 
marriage  to  the  great  heiress.  Among  the  strange  characters 
introduced  in  the  book  are  a  Salvation  Army  Captain,  a  Badical 
of  the  root  and  branch  stamp,  a  Seventh  d^y  ^de^'^^^'Q^^  ^ 


362       MAKGIXAL  NffTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS. 

jiseudo  Ijord  and  Lady  Davenant — the  former  of  whom  tarns  out 
to  be  the  scion  of  a  "Roag  in  Grane" — and  a  discoverer  with 
whom  the  world  will  have  nothing  to  do.  There  are  slips  in  the 
grammar  and  occasionally  in  the  facts  of  the  book,  but,  for  all 
that,  probably  no  more  original  and  brightly  told  a  story  has 
ap{>eared  this  season.  The  author  dedi«ites  the  work  to  the 
memory  of  his  deceased  coUaborateur,  Mr.  James  Rice. 

Letters  to  a  Friend.  By  Connop  Thirlwall,  late  Lord  Bishop 
of  St.  David's.  This  is  a  really  charming  volume.  The 
publishers,  Messrs.  Richard  Bent  ley  and  Son,  Xew  Burlington 
Street,  deserve  to  be  congratulated  on  the  taste  they  have 
displayed  in  its  get  up.  The  literary'  workmanship  of  the  editor, 
the  late  Dean  of  Westminster,  is  too  well  known  to  need  any 
general  praise,  and  we  therefore  will  not  indulge  in  any;  but 
when  we  say  that  he  has  in  this  instance  performed  his  task  in 
a  most  thorough  and  admirable  manner,  our  words  should  be 
taken  in  a  special  sense,  and  for  a  reason  we  must  shortly 
explain.  The  work  is  full  of  references  to  things  Welsh ;  to  the 
tnuiition,  the  folk-lore  of  Wales;  to  idiomatic  and  proverbial 
modes  of  expression  of  Welsh  sentiment  and  feeling.  Welsh 
phrases  are  frequently  met  with  in  its  pages,  and  it  is  these 
things  combined  that  may  give  freshness — j>ossibly  a  distinct 
value — to  the  favourable  testimony  borne  on  behalf  of  the  book 
by  a  Welshman  in  the  pages  of  the  Welsh  National  Magazine. 

The  letters  are  selected  from  a  correspondence  of  ten  years 
with  a  young  friend,  one  of  a  Welsh  family  in  which  the  late 
Bishop  Thirlwall  took  great  interest,  says  Dean  Stanley  in  his 
preface.  "  They  indicate  the  enthusiastic  delight  which  he,  no 
less  than  his  correspondent,  took  in  the  language  and  traditions 
of  his  ^^'el8h  diocese ;  they  reveal  also  some  of  his  innermost 
thoughts  and  feelings  on  the  great  moral  and  religious  questions 
of  all  time  concerning  which  in  his  published  writings  we  have 
only  the  external  and  judicial  expression."  For  ourselves,  we 
confess  to  a  warm  personal  interest  in  this  "  Friend  "  to  whom 
the  good  and  great  Bishop  addressed  his  delightful  letters. 
That  his  correspondent  was  a  lady  is  made  evident  enough, 
although  it  appeared  to  us  as  if  she  had  instructed  her  editor, 
if  not  exactly  to  rigidly  suppress  her  personality,  to  at  least  keep 
it  as  far  in  the  background  as  possible.  Forming  part  of  the 
preface  already  alluded  to  are  extracts  from  Dean  Stanley's 
sermon,  delivered  at  the  Bishop's  interment  in  Westminster 
Abbey.  Speaking  of  the  personal  character  of  the  distinguished 
man  the  preacher  truly  says,  "  That  was  no  mean  sense  of  duty 
which  constrained  him  when,  in  middle  life,  he  entered  on  the 
Episcopate  to  throw  his  vast  linguistic  power  into  the  difficult, 
though  to  him  grateful,  task  of  learning,  as  no  English  bishop 
since  the  Conquest  had  ever  learnt,  the  language  of  his  Cambrian 
diocese*''  In  his  earlier  years  Connop  Thirlwall,  despite  ^obloquy 


MARaiXAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRAEY  BOOKS.        36^ 

and  opposition,"  advocated  the  admission  of  Dissenters  to  the 
Universities ;  in  his  later  a  scheme  of  concurrent  endowment 
for  the  Irish  Churches — facts  which  ought  for  ever  to  endear  his 
memory  to  those  great  religious  bodies  in  whose  behalf 
such  noble  and  disinterested  efforts  were  put  forth.  At  the  age 
of  seventy-six,  released  from  the  cares  of  his  Welsh  diocese,  the 
venerable  prelate  became  a  boy  again  in  the  eagerness  and 
avidity  with  which  he  set  about  acquiring  other  knowledge 
wherewith  to  add  to  the  vast  store  he  had  already  accumulated.- 
In  the  last  days  of  his  life,  when  blindness  and  deafness  might 
be  supposed  to  have  seriously  impaired  his  mental  faculties,  he 
dictated  into  Latin,  Cfreek,  German,  Italian,  Spanish,  French, 
and — clywch  hyn  fechgyn  Cymru! — TTeZsA,  translations  of  the 
"  striking  apologue  which  tells  us  that  as  Sleep  is  the  brother 
of  Death,  thou  must  be  careful  to  commit  thyself  to  the  care 
of  Him  who  is  to  awaken  thee  from  the  Death  of  Sleep  and  from 
the  Sleep  of  Death."  He  himself  now  sleeps  the  Sleep  of  Death 
and  of  the  just  beneath  one  stone  with  his  illustrious  friend^ 
fellow  student,  and  co-historian  of  Greece,  George  Grote.  In 
jEtenia  Tnemoriu  erit  juatua  runs  the  last  line  of  the  inscription 
referring  to  Grote  ;  which  is  good.  That  upon  Connop  Thirl  wall, 
Welsh  in  sympathy  even  unto  Death,  reads  Givyn ,  ei  Fyd ; 
which  is  better. 

Diaries  and  Letters  of  Philip  Henry ^  M.A,  Edited  by 
Matthew  Henry  Lee,  M.A.,  Vicar  of  Hanmer.  London:  Kegan 
Paul,  Trench,  and  Co.  -  The  value  of  collections  of  letters  is 
becoming  daily  more  apparent.  They  furnish  the  best  possible 
material  for  the  history  of  times  when  newspapers  were  not ; 
and,  indeed,  under  certain  circumstances,  even  of  modem  times, 
when  newspapers  are.  In  reading  the  volimie,  for  the  preceding 
review,  nothing  struck  us  so  much  as  the  simplicity  with  which 
a  historical  record  was  put  together  by  the  remarks  of  an 
intelligent  looker-on ;  remarks  which  might  quite  as  easily  have 
occurred  to  anyone  else,  but  which,  having  been  jotted  down  and 
preserved,  are  of  greater  intrinsic  value  than  the  greatest  of  the 

great  deductions  of  Hume  or  Gibbon,  Macaulay  or  Buckle, 
hilip  Henry  was  of  Glamorganshire  descent.  His  grandfather 
was  Henry  Williams,  of  Briton  Ferry,  "  near  Swansey,"  whose 
son,  Philip's  father,  left  home  with  a  groat  in  his  pocket,  to 
make  his  way  in  the  world  as  best  he  could.  The  parish 
registers  of  Briton  Ferry  (the  editor  of  this  volume  tells  us) 
do  not  begin  earlier  than  1680,  and  this,  coupled  with  the 
fact  that  no  wills  of  any  members  of  the  family  have  been 
found — possibly,  we  suggest,  because  there  were  no  wills  to  be 
made — renders  it  impossible  to  gather  information  from  those 
sources.  Mr.  G.  T.  Clark,  of  Dowlais  House,  has,  however, 
furnished  the  editor  with  a  sketch  of  the  family  of  William  or 
Williams,  the  whilom  owners  of  Briton  Ferry,  and  ancestors  q£ 


364        IVIAEGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBEARY  BOOKS. 

the  present  Earl  of  Jersey,  beginning  with  Evan  ap  Sison, 
seventh  in  descent  from  lestyn,  who  married  Janet,  daughter  of 
Ehys  ap  Llewelyn.  Although  the  name  of  Henry  Williams 
•does  not  figure  in  this  pedigree,  the  editor  thinks  it  not 
improbable  that  this  was  the  source  whence  Philip  Heniy 
•descended.  Good — let  it  be  so ;  it  cannot  much  matter  one 
way  or  the  other.  Philip  Henry's  name  is  worth  quite  as 
much  as  that  of  any  of  his  ancestors  under  any  circumstances, 
and  perhaps  more. 

Philip  was  bom  at  Whitehall  on  the  24th  of  August,  1631, 
and  was  the  son  of  John  (of  the  groat),  who  was  bom  at 
Briton  Ferry  on  either  the  10th  or  20th  of  July,  1.590 — there 
is  a  discrepancy  in  the  book  as  to  the  particular  day — in  the 
good  old  days  of  Queen  Bess.  Philip — his  father  having 
added  rather  heavily  to  the  original  groat-  -was  well  brought 
up.  By  a  happy  accident  of  position  he  had  Prince  Charles  and 
the  Duke  of  York  for  play-fellows,  and  was  a  good  deal  petted 
by  Archbishop  Laud,  to  whom  he  acted  as  a  sort  of  amateur 
<loorkeeper  at  the  Watergate,  Whitehall,  of  which  his  father  had 
the  official  charge.  He  was  sent  to  learn  Latin  at  St.  Martin's 
•Church  School,  kept  by  a  Mr  Bonner,  and  afterwards  to  one 
at  Battersea,  kept  by  a  Mr.  Wells.  In  1643  he  entered  as  fourth 
form  boy  at  Westminster.  In  December,  1647,  he  went  to 
•Oxford.  In  the  following  year  occurred  the  trouble  of  the 
Parliamentary  visitation,  for  non-submission  to  which  the 
officials  of  the  University  changed  places  all  round — an  action 
which  Clarendon  thinks  covered  the  great  seat  of  learning  with 
eternal  renown.  Philip  regretted  very  much  the  removal  of  his 
tutor  Underwood.  At  the  end  of  1648  his  father  took  him  to 
Whitehall,  where,  on  the  30th  of  January,  1649,  he  witnessed 
the  beheading  of  King  Charles.  Once,  as  his  Majesty  was  being 
taken  by  to  Westminster,  he  happened  to  catch  sight  of  the 
elder  Henry,  and  addressing  him,  said,  "  Art  thou  alive  yet  ?" 
Poor,  unfortunate,  misguided,  kind-hearted  soul !  Philip  saw  the 
fatal  blow  given,  and  heard  "  such  a  grone  by  the  thousands 
then  present  as  I  never  heard  before,  and  I  desire  I  may  never 
hear  again.*'  Three  years  later  he  took  his  B.A.  degree.  On 
December  10th,  1652,  he  "proceeded  Master  of  Arts."  Sep- 
tember 30th,  1653,  he  "  came  to  Emerall,  in  Flintshire,  to 
Judge  Puleston,  to  teach  his  sons,  and  to  preach  at  Wor then- 
bury  ;  stipend,  £60  per  annum." 

He  remained  with  the  Puleston  family  some  time,  and  at  first 
got  on  very  well  with  them,  the  Judge  settling  £100  a  year  on 
him  during  his  stay  at  Worthenbury.  From  Master  Koger 
Puleston,  a  regular  young  scamp,  he  experienced  some  trouble. 
Under  date  Sept.  16,  1656,  in  the  Diary,  is  this  quaint  entiy : 
"  R.  P.  assaulted  mee  in  wrath,  whereby  my  unruly  passions 
being  stir'd  I  strooke  againe  and  hurt  his  face,  against  the 


MA.EGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS.       3G5 

command  of  our  lord  Jesus,  which  requires  the  turning  of  the 
other  cheek,  the  occasion  was,  zeale  for  God,  though  in 
circumstances  ill  managed,  lord  lay  no  sin  to  either  of  our  charge. 
The  day  following  I  preaclit  at  Wrexham."  Possessed  of  a 
somewhat  less  elastic  conscience  than  the  Vicar  of  Bray, 
Henry  got  into  serious  trouble  with  the  authorities,  ecclesiastical 
and  civil.  He  refused  to  hang  up  their  Proclamations  in  his 
church,  and  declared  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
Act  of  Uniformity.  These  things  led  to  his  being  deprived  of 
his  living  and  his  liberty,  and  to  his  final  abandonment  of  the 
Church,  which  he,  at  any  rate,  had  found  to  be  an  unnatural 
mother.  After  his  formal  secession  he  set  up  a  "  meeting- 
place  "  of  his  own,  and  there  he  continued  to  minister  up  ta 
the  very  last.  A  fortnight  before  his  death,  which  took  place 
in  1696,  he  broke  bread  and  took  the  wine  cup  with  his  flock 
for  the  last  time,  Prelatical  hatred  appears  to  have  followed 
him  to  the  grave,  for  in  the  diary  of  his  son  Matthew — the 
celebrated  commentator,  whose  great  Bible  is  known  in  almost 
every  household  in  Wales — we  find  record  of  an  attempt  on  the 
part  of  the  chancellor  of  the  diocese  of  Lichfield  to  demolish 
the  good  man's  monument.  Such  an  attempt  was  subsequently 
successful,  the  tablet  erected  by  Dr.  Tylston,  of  Chester,  to  the 
memory  of  the  deceased  in  Whitchurch  Church,  being  removed 
to  the  porch,  and  the  remains  themselves  transferred  to  another 
spot  in  the  church  from  the  place  in  which  they  were  originally 
interred.  The  present  editors  notes,  although  valuable  in  an 
elucidatory  sense  in  almost  every  instance,  lose  a  considerable 
amount  of  their  force  from  want  of  consecutiveness  and  effective 
arrangement.  It  is  almost  inconceivable  why  something  like  a 
life  of  the  good  and  remarkable  man  should  not  have  been 
attempted  in  the  introductory  portion  of  the  work,  instead  of 
the  fragmentary  and,  in  places,  wholly  unnecessary  hints  there 
given  us.  The  reference  to  the  letter  in  the  Cecil  papers  at 
Hatfield  House,  and  the  long  note  on  page  4,  have  nothing  in 
the  world  to  do  with  Philip  Henry.  These  defects  apart,  the 
volume  furnishes  a  goodly  abundance  of  material  for  the  better 
understanding  of  some  exceedingly  interesting  phases  in  the 
inner  life  of  the  period.  As  might  have  been  expected  from  a 
firm  of  such  reputation,  the  publishers  have  done  their  part  of 
the  work  well. 


LITERARY  AND  ART  NOTES  OF  THE  MONIH.  *c 


The  new  Sacred  Harmonic  Society  was  inaugurated  on  the 
23rd  of  February,  by  a  performance  of  the  "  Redemption,**  at 
St.  James's  Hall.  Mr.  Charles  Halle  conducted,  and  the 
principal  lady  vocalist  was  the  talented  Welshwoman,  Miss 
Mary  Davies.     The  performance  was  in  every  sense  a  success. 

The  TimeSj  in  its  notice  of  the  concert,  pays  our  country- 
woman this  very  high  compliment : — "  The  soli,"  says  the 
account,  "  were  in  excellent  hands.  The  beauty  and  purity  of 
Miss  Mary  Davies's  voice  are  unsurpassed  by  any  other  concert 
singer  now  before  the  public,  and  the  soprano  music — the  most 
■effective  part,  in  a  vocal  sense,  which  Gounod  has  vouchsafed — 
was  accordingly  heard  to  great  advantage."  Brava,  Mary 
Davies !   Brava,  Wales ! 

The  article  "  Welsh  Origin  of  Latin-Place  Names,"  of  which 
we  published  the  third  and  concluding  instalment  last  month, 
has  attracted  very  general  notice.  The  permission  of  the 
author  has  been  asked  for  its  translation,  for  publication  in 
France. 

Students  of  Froissart,  says  the  Paris  correspondent  of  the 
TimeSj  who  have  been  puzzled  at  the  uncouth  or  unintelligible 
forms  of  English  names,  will  be  interested  in  the  forthcoming 
issue  of  the  second  and  third  volumes  of  the  oldest  armori^ 
treatise  in  existence — that  of  Ghelre,  or  Gelre,  a  herald  con- 
temporary with  Froissart.  A  writer  in  the  Coiistitutionnelj 
who  has  seen  the  proofs  of  this  facsimile  edition,  only  sixty 
copies  of  which  are  to  be  printed,  states  that  Froissart's  Attele^ 
Assele,  Assley,  or  Adultilles  turns  out  to  be  John  of  Athole. 
Heton,  Holton,  or  Wilton  proves  to  be  Hilton.  Thomas  Barton 
becomes  Thomas  Bardolf.  Du  Guesclin's  follower  Creswell,  who 
has  hitherto  mystified  genealogists,  is  cleared  up  as  a  Cromwell. 
One  of  the  objections  to  the  William  Tell  legend — viz.,  the  non- 
existence of  a  Gessler — likewise  disappears ;  for  Ghelre  shows 
that  a  family  of  that  name  in  1340  held  an  hereditary  post  in 
the  Austrian  Court.  The  work  will  be  completed  in  about  a 
year.     It  is  edited  by  the  paleographer,  M.  Victor  Boutom. 

The  Franklin  collection,  purchased  by  the  United  States 
Government  of  Henry  Stevens,  of  England,  has  been  handed 


LITERARY  AND   ART   NOTES.  367 

over  to  Minister  Lowell,  in  London.  It  embraces  about  sixty 
volumes  of  manuscripts,  mostly  large  folios,  and  300  volumes  of 
printed  books,  including  Franklin's  chapter  additional  to 
Genesis,  his  supplement  to  the  Boston  Chronicle^  twenty-seven 
numbers  of  "  Poor  Richard's  Almanack,"  a  complete  set  of  his 
^'  Pocket  Almanack,"  eight  years  of  the  Pennsylvania  Gazette, 
and  Franklin's  first  work  on  "  Liberty  and  Necessity,"  of  which 
the  author  printed  only  one  hundred  copies,  gave  three  or  four 
away,  and  destroyed  all  the  rest,  except  one  copy  annotated  by 
Lyon.  Among  the  numerous  MSS.  are  the  celebrated  letter  to 
Mr.  Strahan  and  the  duplicate  copy  of  the  last  petition  of 
Congress  to  the  King,  signed  by  Washington  and  all  the 
members  of  the  Continental  Congress. 

Mr.  Ceiriog  Hughes,  Caersws,  to  whom  the  libretti  of  the 
dramatic  cantatas,  received  by  the  Committee  of  the  National 
Eisteddfod  of  Wales  in  competition  for  their  prize  of  ten  guineas, 
were  submitted  for  inspection,  has  published  his  adjudication 
in  the  Western  Maily  in  which  he  declares  there  is  not  a  line 
of  humour,  wit,  or  pleasantry  in  the  whole  five  that  were 
sent  in. 

Wagner,  the  great  German  composer,  died  at  Venice  of 
S3mcope  on  the  14th  of  February.  The  subject  of  his  latest 
work  must  commend  itself  specially  to  the  Welsh  reader. 
*'  Parsifal "  is  "  Percival,"  the  gallant  young  Welshman  of 
romance,  son  of  Sir  Pellinore,  and  a  Knight  of  the  Vordgron 
— "  Percival  the  Pure  "  Tennyson  calls  him,  with  as  much  truth, 
that  is  to  say,  allegorical  truth,  as  alliterativeness.  Among 
the  many  knights  who  undertook  the  quest  of  the  Holy  Grail 
— the  vessel  from  which  the  Saviour  drank  at  the  Last  Supper, 
and  in  which  Joseph  of  Arimathea  afterwards  caught  His  blood 
at  the  Cross—  to  Percival  fell  the  largest  measure  of  success. 
■*'  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,"  says  a  beautiful  passage  in 
the  Beatitudes,  "  for  they  shall  see  God."  To  the  pure  Percival, 
therefore,  was  given  the  blessing  which  to  all  grosser  natures 
was  denied.  At  his  death,  says  one  of  the  old  romances,  the 
Grail,  the  Sacred  Spear,  and  the  silver  trencher  were  taken  up 
to  heaven,  and  have  never  since  been  seen  on  earth.  From 
the  English  versions  of  the  knight's  adventures  the  one  given 
by  Wagner  in  several  respects  differs.  Herr  Wagner  was  buried 
at  Munich  four  days  after  his  death. 

The  will  (dated  April  8,  1882)  of  the  poet  and  painter,  Dante 
Gabriel  Rossetti,  late  of  No.  16,  Chejme-walk,  Chelsea,  who  died 
on  the  9th  of  April  last,  at  Birchington-upon-Sea,  was  proved  on 
the  20th  Jan.  by  William  Michael  Rossetti,  the  brother  and  sole 
executor,  the  value  of  the  personal  estate  exceeding  £5,000. 
The  testator  bequeaths  a  drawing  or  some  other  article,  as  a 
memento  of  him,  to  his  mother,  brother,  and  sister,  and  to  his 
friends  Ford  Madox  Brown,  William  Bell  Scott^  £d^^d.^\iT\i^ 


368  LITERARY  AND  ART  NOTES. 

Jones,  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne,  Frederick  Leyland,  Frede- 
rick Shields,  Theodore  Watts,  Thomas  Hall  Caine,  Mrs.  William 
Morris,  William  Graham,  and  L.  R.  Valpy  ;  and  the  residue'of 
his  property  between  his  mother  and  brother. 

The  will  of  the  late  Anthony  Trollope,  the  well-known  novelist, 
has  been  i)roved  by  the  two  executors,  Mrs.  Rose  Trollope,  the 
widow,  and  Mr.  Henry  JNIerivale  Trollope,  the  eldest  son  of  the 
deceased.  The  personalty  is  sworn  at  £25,892.  The  will  is 
dated  2yth  October,  1878,  and  leaves  all  the  property  in  trust 
for  Mrs.  Trollope,  and  provides  for  its  division  after  her  death 
between  the  sons  of  the  deceased.  The  MSS.  of  the  late 
novelist  are  left  to  the  eldest  son,  and  after  the  widow's  death 
the  sum  of  £4,000  is  left  to  Miss  F.  Nightingale  Bland,  niece  of 
the  deceased. 

In  a  scholarly  article  in  the  second  number  of  the  Scottish 
Revieiv^  the  Marquess  of  Bute,  treating  of  Ancient  Celtic  Latin 
Hymns,  says  that  "Gildas,  called  the  wise,  who  is  believed  to 
have  been  the  first  to  introduce  the  Roman  Liturgy  into  Ireland, 
is  the  reputed  author  of  a  poem  of  the  class  called  Ix)ric,  or 
breastplates,  being  designed  as  protectives  against  evil,  a  class 
of  composition  of  which  the  earliest  specimen  is  a  fine  hymn  in 
Gaelic,  claiming  to  be  the  work  of  St.  Patrick  himself.  That 
the  Suffragare  is  indeed  by  the  *  querulous  '  author  of  the  De 
Excidlo  Britannicc  is  borne  out  l)y  the  Cymric  words  which  it 
contains,  and  '  the  deadly  pestilence  of  this  year '  is  conjectured 
to  point  to  the  Yellow  Plague  of  a.d.  547."  Stephens,  it  may 
be  mentioned,  thinks  it  clear  that  Aneurin  Gwawdrydd,  the 
author  of  the  Gododin^  was  the  son  of  this  Gildas.  In  the 
specimen  quoted  by  Lord  Bute,  the  Cymric  words  do  not  exceed 
two,  or  at  the  most  three,  and  even  these  have  a  sort  of 
bastardised  Latin  look  about  them. 

Writing  Notes  and  Queries  on  the  subject  of  Keltic  Tracery,. 
Mr.  R.  S.  Cliamock  says : — "  Some  of  the  river  names  of  Scandfi- 
navia  are  of  Keltic  origin.  I,  for  one,  do  not  believe  in  *  Aryan 
Settlements.'"  Only  to  a  very  limited  extent,  it  may  be  added^ 
do  we. 

A  large  stone,  about  seven  feet  long,  with  traces  of  a  Roman 
inscription  upon  it,  has  been  unearthed  during  some  ploughing 
operations  on  Major  Piatt's  estate  at  Llanfairfechan. 

The  committee  appointed  to  receive  subscriptions  towards 
defraying  the  cost  of  a  public  monument  to  the  bard  Islwyn  in 
the  burying  ground  of  Babel  Chapel,  Pontllanfraith,  have  just 
announced  that  they  have  received  jt'90.  Among  the  sums 
received  was  £10  from  Welshmen  in  Chili,  which  sum  was 
forwarded  to  the  Rev.  Edward  Mathews,  CM.,  Bonvilstone. 
Islwyn,  as  well  as  being  a  good  poet,  was  a  very  popular  Welsh 
preacher  with  the  Calvinistic  Methodists.     The  secretary  of  the 


LITERARY  AND   ART   NOTES.  369 

committee  is  Dyfed,  Cathays,  Cardiff,  the  young  bard  who  won 
the  chair  prize  at  the  Merthyr  National  Eisteddfod. 

Mrs.  Guest,  of  Sandford  Park,  Woodstock,  Oxford,  the  widow 
of  the  late  Dr.  Guest,  has  announced  her  intention  of  presenting 
to  all  the  chief  public  libraries  and  literary  institutes  of  Great 
Britain  a  copy  of  her  husband's  Originea  Celticaej  just  published 
by  Messrs.  Macmillan.  The  ISIay  number  of  the  Red  Dragon 
will  contain  a  careful  review  of  this  important  work. 

The  Cymmrodorion  held  their  opening  meeting  on  the  22nd 
February,  the  inaugural  address  being  delivered  by  Judge  B.  T. 
Williams,  (^.C.  Among  the  papers  to  be  read  during  the  season 
are  Mr.  Alfred  Nutt's  "  Relation  of  the  Grail  Legend  with 
Celtic  Popular  Belief  and  Literature ;"  Glanffrwd's  "  Welsh 
Hymnology ;"  one  by  Judge  Williams  on  "  Pembrokeshire ;" 
and  one  on  "Music  in  the  Welsh  Borderland,"  by  Mr.  Henry 
Leslie. 

**  Several  complaints  have  lately  reached  us,"  says  the 
Atheiiceuviy  "about  the  delay  in  publishing  the  catalogue  of  the 
Marquess  of  Bute's  pictures  now  in  the  Bethnal  Green  Museum.  It 
is  understood  the  Art  Department  has  such  a  catalogue  in  hand. 
If  so,  the  public  may  hope  that  the  well-established  custom  of 
the  South  Kensington  officials  will  not  be  infringed  by  long 
delay  in  respect  to  this  desideratum." 

Dr.  C.  W.  Siemens,  P\R.S.,  whose  connection  with  I^andore 
almost  entitles  him  to  rank  as  a  Welshman,  intends  publishing 
in  an  octavo  volume  his  original  paper  "  On  the  Conservation  of 
Solar  Energy,"  read  before  the  Royal  Society,  together  with  the 
discussion  on  the  subject  which  has  taken  place  in  the  pages  of 
Nature  and  before  the  Academic  des  Sciences. 

To  a  discussion  which  has  for  some  time  past  been  going 
on  in  the  columns  of  Notes  and  Queries  Mr.  J.  Harris,  Orchard 
Villa,  Cowbridge  Road,  Cardiff,  contributes  the  following  which 
appears  in  6th  S.  \di.,  195: — "In  an  article  on  *  Welsh 
Surnames'  in  the  Red  Dragon,  the  National  Magazine  of 
Wales,  for  December,  Mr.  W.  S.  Lach-Szyrma  will  find  a 
humorous  editorial  note  specially  relating  to  the  family  name 
Harris.  I  have  unfortunately  mislaid  my  copy,  or  I  should 
have  been  very  pleased  to  send  your  correspondent  a  cutting." 

On  the  order  for  the  second  reading  of  the  Bristol  and  London 
and  South  Western  Junction  Railway  Bill  in  the  House  of 
Commons  on  Thursday,  March  8,  Sir  J.  Lubbock  (who  had  given 
notice  of  his  intention  to  move  that  the  Bill  be  read  a  second 
time  that  day  six  months)  said  that  he  was  always  very  reluctant 
to  oppose  the  second  reading  of  a  railway  Bill,  but  he  hoped  hon. 
members  would  consider  that  this  was  an  exceptional  case,  and 
one  on  which  it  was  desirable  that  the  House  as  a  whole  should 
pronounce  an  opinion.  The  Bill  as  presented  to  Parliament 
proposed  to  go  on  a  high  embankment  very  near  StoTk&\i^\i^<^^ 

Y 


370  LITERAEY  AND  ART  NOTES. 

cutting  diagonally  through  both  the  Avenue  and  the  Cursns. 
He  need  hardly  say  that  these  remains  were  quite  unique. 
►Stonehenge  and  Avebury  were  the  two  grandest  monuments  of 
their  kind  in  the  world.  He  was  not  sure  that  the  vibration  of 
the  trains  might  not  shake  down  the  great  trilithons ;  but  at  any 
rate  the  Avenue  and  the  Cmsus  would  be  destroved,  and  the 
whole  aspect  of  this  solemn  and  mysterious  scene  irreparably 
ruined.  Moreover  it  was  quite  unnecessary.  A  line  somewhat 
to  the  north  would  be  quite  as  short,  and  presented  no 
engineering  or  other  difficulties.  The  fact  was  that  the 
engineers  had  not  given  a  thought  to  the  matter.  When  one 
of  the  promoters  was  remonstrated  with  on  this  act  of  vandalism, 
he  replied  that  they  did  not  propose  to  take  down  Stonehenge 
itself ;  that  the  Avenue  was  merely  a  bank  and  a  ditch  ;  and 
as  for  the  Cursus,  that  "  though  it  might  once  have  served  as  an 
ancient  British  racecourse,  all  he  could  say  was  that  it  was 
quite  out  of  repair  and  of  no  use  whatever  now."  However,  the 
company  had  now  agreed  to  abandon  that  piece  of  their  line, 
and  asked  Parliament  to  sanction  another,  which,  while  it  would 
be  quite  as  direct  and  presented  no  engineering  difficulties, 
would  spare  both  the  Avenue  and  the  Cursus.  It  would  be  a 
mile  from  Stonehenge,  and  only  visible  at  one  j)oint,  which  the 
company  had  agreed  to  plant  so  that  it  would  interfere  as  little 
as  might  be  with  the  general  features  of  the  spot.  Under  these 
circumstances,  he  did  not  feel  justified  in  opposing  the  second 
reading,  though  he  confessed  he  could  not  but  regret  the  con- 
struction of  a  line  through  that  particular  district.  He  was 
assured  that  the  vibration  could  not  at  the  distance  now  pro- 
posed endanger  Stonehenge,  but  he  hoped  that  the  Committee 
would  satisfy  themselves  on  that  jwint.  He  had  no  doubt  that 
the  promoters  would  carry  out  their  undertaking,  but,  of  course, 
if  it  should  be  necessary,  he  hoped  the  House  would  permit  him 
to  oppose  the  Bill  on  the  third  reading.  (Hear,  heai\) — Mr. 
Kennard,  who  had  also  given  notice  of  an  amendment  to  the 
motion,  said  that,  under  the  circumstances  mentioned  by  the 
hon.  baronet  the  member  for  the  University  of  London,  he  would 
not  now  press  his  opposition  to  the  Bill.  The  Bill  was  then 
read  a  second  time. 

Mr.  James  Sauvage,  the  Welsh  baritone,  has  been  very 
successful  in  his  representation  of  "  Danny  Mann  "  in  Benedict's 
opera,  "  The  Lily  of  Killamey."  His  song,  "  Colleen  Bawn,** 
was  heartily  encored.  His  appearance  in  opera  in  London  con- 
cluded at  the  opening  of  Piaster  week. 

A  concert  was  given  at  the  HoUoway  Hall,  London,  on  Friday, 

March  9,  under  the  management  of  Mr.  Lionel  Tennyson,  in 

aid  of   Mrs.    Watts-Hughes'    Home    for  Destitute  Children. 

Among  the   vocalists  were  liady  Colin  Campbell,  the  Hon* 

^Spencer  Lyttleton,  and  Mr.lAoicieVlemi^^oxv.   "^Ni^^T^ako 


LITERARY   AND   ART   NOTES.  371 

given  by  the  Misses  Roby  and  Annie  Williams,  the  latter  of 
whom  was  enthusiastically  encored  in  her  song,  "  The  Lady  of 
the  Sea."  The  lady  in  aid  of  whose  philanthropic  work  the 
concert  was  given  is  Welsh  to  the  core,  and  as  Miss  Megan 
Watts  is  well-known  in  all  parts  of  the  Principality. 

Our  March  "  note "  anent  the  Carmarthenshire  8ui)er- 
stition  of  •*  the  Sin  Eater  "  appears  to  have  excited  the  liveliest 
curiosity.  Letters  asking  for  further  information  upon  the 
subject  have  reached  us  from  all  quarters,  including  one  from 
*'  an  American  Reader."  We  have  much  pleasure  in  announcing 
that  the  Red  Dragon  for  May  will  contain  a  paper,  by  a  well- 
known  Welsh  antiquarian,  explanatory  of  the  extraordinary 
custom. 

We  are  indebted  to  Mr.  D.  Long  Price  for  the  following  really 
charming  translation  of  one  of  the  finest  passages  in  Tennyson's 
Morte  D* Arthur : — 

THE  PASSING  OF  ARTHUR. 

Cyfnewid  mae'r  hen  drefn,  a'r  newydd  ddaw, 

Dwg  Duw  ei  waith  i  ben  mewn  Uawer  ffordd, 

Rhag  i  im  ddefod  dda,  o  bara,  lygniV  byd. 

Cysura  dy  hun  ;  Pa  gysur  8y'  ynof  fi  ? 

Treuliais  fy  einioes,  a'r  hyn  ynddi  *wne8, 

(.Twnaed  Duw  o'i  fewn  ei  hun  ei  buro!  end  tydi, 

Ob  byth  na  weli  di  fy  ngwyneb  mwy, 

Gweddia  dros  fy  enaid.     Mwy  wna  gweddi 

Na  thybia'r  byd.     Gan  hyny,  gad  'i'th  lain 

Esgyn  fel  ffynun  droeof  nds  a  dydd. 

Can's  beth  y w  dynion  well  n*ar  'nifail  mud, 

Sy*n  meithrin  bywyd  tywyll  yn  ei  siol, 

Os,  tra'n  gwel'd  Duw,  ni  chodant  ddwylaw  gweddi 

DroBtynt  eu  hunaiu  a'u  cyfeillion  hoff  ? 

Can's  felly  mae  r  holl  ddaear  gron  bob  ffordd 

Tn  nghlwm  gan  ddidiau  aur  o  gylch  traed  Duw. 

Ac  'nawr  ifarwel,  *Kwy*n  myn'd  yn  mhell  o  ffordd 

Gyda'r  rhai  weli — os  yn  wir  yr  af — 

(Can's  tywyll  yw'm  holl  feddwl  gan  amheuaeth), 

I  ynys— -ddyff ryn  tawel,  cudd,  Afallon  ; 

Lie  ni  ddaw  cesair,  gwlaw,  nac  eira  oes, 

A'r  gwynt  ni  chwyth  yn  uchel,  ond  mae'n  gorwedd 

Mewn  dolydd  dyfynion,  teg  mevm  lawnt  a  pherllan 

A  phantydd  coedog  ar  Ian  mOr  o  haf ; 

Yno  caf  welliant  o  fy  mhoenus  glwyf. 

"  An  invalid  lady  "  writes  us  expressing  a  wish  that  her  best 
thanks  be  conveyed  to  Mr.  Howell,  of  St.  Athan,  for  very  many 
pleasant  hours  spent  in  reading  his  varied  ^^  Beminiscences  of 
Merthyr  Tydfil." 


Y  2 


OUR  "RED  DRAGONS"  AT  WESTMINSTER. 


I  concluded  my  last  on  the  morrow  of  the  opening  of  the 
Session,  but  although  a  month  has  elapsed  since  the  \'icarious 
document,  known  as  the  Queen's  Speech,  composed  by  many 
minds  in  various  Jiumours,  and  read  from  the  woolsack  by  the 
distressfully  emotional  lips  of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  the  House, 
as  far  as  I  can  discern,  has  not  yet  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
Session.  This  is  really  a  very  inconvenient  fact,  since  it  means 
that  the  best  working  period  of  the  Parliamentary  year  is 
rapidly  drawing  to  a  fruitless  termination,  and  that  the 
prorogation  has  already  receded  a  month  beyond  the  coveted 
period  at  which  Viscount  Emlyn  hopes  to  see  Mr.  Henry 
Kichard  "  potting "  grouse,  and  Mr.  Dillwyn  blazing  away  at 
black  cock  from  his  bedroom  window  at  the  well-known 
shooting  box  of  the  Thane  of  Cawdor,  between  Bimam  Wood 
and  Dunsinane.  Mr.  Dillwyn  always  tells  an  admirable 
sporting  story  to  a  select  circle  of  smokers  at  least  once  a  year, 
the  climax  of  the  narrative  being  reached  when  he  describes 
how  he  was  on  the  jwint  of  mistaking  the  member  for  Merthyr 
for  a  black  cock,  and  "potting"  him  on  the  spot.  This  adventure, 
however,  was  an  affair  of  somnambulism,  and  the  hon.  member 
for  Swansea  only  recovered  consciousness  when  my  lord's  man 
entered  with  his  shaving  water.  Mr.  Dillwyn  then  found 
himself  standing  in  his  shirt,  with  a  huge  brass  warming-pan 
at  the  cock,  and  directed  at  a  drove  of  Highland  cattle.  The 
Highland  cattle  had  assumed  the  form  of  the  Herald  of  Peace^ 
Such  is  the  eccentric  convolutions  of  a  mind  recently  Uberated 
from  the  depraved  thraldom  of  political  servitude  dictated 
by  a  despotic  Eadical  Government.  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
Mr.  Richard  would  rather  shoot  a  Colonial  Bishop  than  fire  a 
gun  at  a  Cheeper.  In  fact,  like  Mr.  George  Augustus  Sala,  he 
knows  nothing  at  all  about  sjwrting,  and  never  shot  at  or  killed 
anything  more  important  than  a  flea.  Mr.  Kichard  very 
gallantly  supported  Mr.  George  Anderson's  Bill  for  putting 
down  pigeon  shooting,  and  voted  for  the  second  reading  like 
the  true-hearted  hater  of  inhurnanity  which  he  is. 
But  au  Teste.  Here  we  aie  \a.bo\ttm^  heavily  through 
Committee    of    Supply    on    Wie   S>\3C5^«ai^TL\«t^   ^\kasa^fiA\ 


OUE  "EED  DEAGONS"  AT  WESTiUNSTEE.     373 

fighting  a  round  of  battles  on  almost  every  conceivable  subject. 
In  fact,  we  are  doing  to-day  what  we  did  for  a  fortnight  in 
the  debate  on  the  Address.  And  we  did  in  the  debate  on  the 
Address  just  what  we  did,  and  nearly  in  the  same  language 
about  a  score  of  times  last  Session.  Our  Sessions  are  growing 
so  alike  that  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  one  from  another,  and 
it  is  becoming  a  very  serious  question  with  the  newspapers 
whether  they  should  not  simply  publish  an  Irish  debate  of  last 
Session  as  the  equivalent  of  an  Irish  debate  this  Session,  and 
repeat  the  experiment  just  as  often  as  the  occasion  may  offer. 
It  would  save  time  and  expense,  especially  if  the  type  were  kept 
standing.  In  recalling  this  ingenious  device,  I  am  reminded 
of  a  capital  suggestion  attributed,  I  doubt  not  correctly,  to  Sir 
John  Jones  Jenkins,  who,  talking  in  the  Lobby  of  the  waste  of 
time,  wondered  aloud  if  it  would  not  be  better  to  appoint  a 
"  Small  Working  Committee  "  to  pass  the  Bills,  while  the  House 
was  left  free  to  do  the  talking  without  which  Sir  Henry  Hussey 
Vivian  believes  it  would  "  burst."  Of  course,  there  were  some 
new  contributors  to  the  turgid  stream  of  Hibernian  complaint, 
the  principal  member  of  the  gang  being  Mr.  O'Brien,  the 
Editor  of  United  Ireland — a  man  of  singulai'ly  sinister  aspect. 
He  speaks  with  a  strong  Munster  brogue,  points  each  sentence 
with  an  abnormcally  incisive  chin  and  nose,  peers  through  a  pair 
of  gleaming  spectacles,  and  uses  language  which  seems  to 
be  cut  and  sharjicned  with  the  knives  that  did  the  Phoenix 
Murther. 

I  apprehend  we  ought  to  have  rejoiced  at  getting  through 
the  Address  in  fifteen  days.  It  was  on  tlje  fifteenth  that  the 
Orand  Old  Man  returned  from  his  travels  in  the  Eiviera.  Had 
he  come  back  a  week  earlier,  the  debate  would  have  gone  on 
for  a  fortnight  longer.  At  least  so  the  Enemy  declares,  and  the 
Enemy  professes  to  know  Mr.  Gladstone's  "  form  "  well.  The  night 
that  he  reappeared  in  the  House  of  Commons  will  not  soon  be 
forgotten.  He  took  his  seat  at  a  quarter  to  five  in  the  after- 
noon, and  it  was  two  in  the  morning  when  Sir  Donald  Currie, 
in  the  unavoidable  absence  of  the  Welsh  member  who  usually 
performs  the  historic  service,  buttoned  the  Premier's  great- 
coat. During  this  time  the  right  hon.  gentleman  suffered 
himself  to  be  "drawn"  like  a  cork  from  a  frothy  bottle  of 
ijuinness's  XX.  The  process  of  "drawing"  was  performed  by 
previous  concert  by  Lord  Eandolph  Churchill,  Mr.  Gorst,  Mr. 
Ashmead  Bartlett,  Lord  George  Hamilton,  and  Sir  Eichard 
Cross.  It  was  really  a  very  jminful  spectacle,  and  I  felt  the 
utmost  sympathy  with  Mrs.  Gladstone,  who  sat  in  the  Ladies' 
Gallery,  and  looked  daggers  at  the  tormentors  of  her  illustrious 
husband.  Of  course,  Mr.  Gladstone  might  have  "  s^WfiA  HXj^fc 
Egyptians  "  by  leaving  the  House,  but  be  evidieiiW^  i^\.>S&fc  ^ 
liberated  prisoner,  and  thirsted  for  tbe  ei^'^o^taexAi  ol  V>aa.^»  ^^oasaft 


374     OUR  "  RED  DRAGONS  "  AT  WESTMINSTER. 

of  liberty  which  to  him  is  dearest — the  power  to  speak  out  what 
is  in  him,  what  God  has  given  him,  what  the  devil  shall  not 
take  away — to  paraphrase  an  ai)ostrophe  of  Carlyle's.  Mr. 
Gladstone,  like  Mr.  Fawcett,  looks  very  well,  however,  and  I 
hope  it  is  a  pardonable  jmradox  to  say  that  both  distinguished 
invalids  apix»ar  to  have  benefitted  from  their  illness.  But  Mr. 
Gladstone's  first  night  in  the  Commons  on  his  return  to  active 
political  life  was  marked  by  some  inconvenient  confessions,  and 
of  these,  relating  as  they  did  to  the  action  of  the  I^oers  in  the 
Transvaal,  Lord  Randolph  Churchill,  Mr.  Gorst,  and  Lord  Gr. 
Hamilton  took  the  fullest  advantage,  with  the  result  of  laying 
the  train  for  a  tremendous  blow-up  on  the  IVansvaal  scutt  ling- 
out  policy  of  the  Government.  How  long  the  conflict  might 
have  continued,  or  how  much  further  the  Prime  Minister, 
flushed  and  excited,  might  have  been  "  drawn,"  it  is  impossible 
to  say,  had  it  not  been  for  the  timely  intervention  of  Viscount 
Emlyn,  who  had  been  asleep  in  his  place,  a  wonderful  spectacle 
of  the  art  of  taking  "  forty  A^-inks  "  in  a  dress  suit,  with  nothing 
to  rest  the  head  upon  but  the  back  of  one  bench,  and  nothing 
to  entwine  the  legs  in  but  the  contracted  area  of  the  bench 
opposite.  Viscount  Emlyn,  waking  up,  and  just  catching  sound 
of  an  accidental  interval  of  silence,  burst  out  and  in  with  a 
demand  for  relief  from  local  taxation.  The  noble  viscount 
spoke  with  such  great  energy  that  he  carried  the  squires  entirely 
with  him,  broke  the  Transvaal  charm  in  twain,  and  gave  Lord 
Hartington  and  Sir  William  Harcoiu-t  an  opportunity  of 
hurrying  Mr.  Gladstone  out  of  the  House.  And  thus  it  was 
that  the  Ministerial  party  was  saved  by  the  happy  inter\'ention 
at  the  right  moment  of  the  noble  lord  the  member  for 
Carmarthenshire.  A  friend  in  need  is  a  friend  indeed. 
Viscount  Emlyn  proved  himself  to  be  both. 

The  little  comedy  of  withdrawing  one  enfeebled  Chairman  of 
Committees  in  order  to  replace  him  by  another  enfeebled  Chair- 
man was  performed  with  great  elaboration,  and  the  election  of 
Sir  Arthiu:  Otway  is  of  interest  to  the  Red  Dragon^  inasmuch  as 
there  was  a  little  party  which  favoured  the  claims  of  Mr. 
KUwyn.  Beyond  all  question  the  member  for  Swansea 
would  be  an  excellent  Chairman.  It  is  urged  that  Sir  Arthur 
Otway's  claims  were  strong  because  he  has  had  much  experience 
as  a  chairman  of  turbulent  City  meetings ;  but  if  Sir  Arthur  is 
a  successful  **  guinea  pig,"  so  likewise  is  Mr  Dillw}Ti.  But  I 
will  not  pursue  this  painful  subject  further  than  to  remark  upon 
the  singular  circumstance  of  replacing  Dr.  Lyon  Playfair  by  a 
jgentleman  with 

"  A  ten  years*  hectic  cough, 
Aches,  stitches,  all  the  various  ills 
That  swell  the  devilbh  doctors'  bills.*' 


OUR  "  RED  DRAGONS  "  AT  WESTMINSTER.      375 

Either  Dr.  Playfair  resigned  for  one  reason  and  gave  another,  or 
else  the  Grovernment  nominated  Sir  Arthur  Otway  that  they 
might  hold  Mr.  Dillwyn  in  hand  for  more  suitable  preferment. 
It  is  almost  needless  to  say  that  in  the  record  of  the  month's 
Parliament  the  Welsh  members  have  had  very  little  to  do. 
The  business  has  not  been  in  their  line.  Nevertheless  they 
have  been  loyal  to  their  trust,  and  if  it  has  not  come  to  them  to 
invest  Wales  with  national  importance,  they  may  at  least  enjoy 
the  consciousness  of  having  obeyed  the  Whips  with  commend- 
able docility. 

A   Pendragon. 

House  of  CommonSy  March  13tt,  1883. 


UNIVERSITY   LIFE   AT    OXFORD. 


No.   IV.   TARSITi'   PiTIQUETTE. 


Possibly  in  no  place  in  the  world  are  there  such  strict 
unwritten  laws  on  etiquette  as  in  Oxford.  It  is,  perhaps,  only 
to  be  expected  that  where  there  are  so  many  who  are  just 
making  their  first  essay  on  their  own  legs  in  polite  society  that 
they  should  wish  to  imitate  the  great  social  world  outside. 
But  these  unwritten  laws  differ,  as  is  only  natural,  in  a  great 
many  resjiects  from  those  of  Mrs.  (irundy,  of  world-wide 
renown.  As  the  weaker  sex  cannot,  at  the  time  when  I  write 
this  article,  be  considered  an  integral  part  of  Oxford  society,  it 
follows  that  all  rules  of  etiquette  have  to  deal  with  the  relations 
of  man  to  man,  tutor  to  undergraduate,  junior  to  senior.  It 
will  be  understood  that  I  speak  hero  of  the  University  of 
Oxford  properly  so  called,  and  not  of  the  society  which  can  be 
found  in  the  suburbs  of  that  classic  city,  consisting  of  dons' 
wives  and  young  ladies  with  blue  stocking  tendencies — these,  I 
believe,  worship  Mrs.  Grundy  in  the  usually  prescribed  foim  ; 
but  I  can  only  conjecture  this,  as  I  am  not  an  initiated  member 
of  the  select  circle.  What  a  revolution  there  must  be  when 
the  enterprising  young  ladies  who  are  destined  to  be  the 
ancestresses  of  others  yet  more  jealous  of  Woman's  Kights,  my 
readers  will  be  able  to  understand  when  they  have  jicrused  this 
article,  but  what  form  the  revolution  will  take  is  beyond  me  to 
conjecture ;  still,  before  this  revolution  takes  place,  I  wish  to 
give  to  i>osterity  a  sketch,  however  feeble,  of  the  condition  of 
etiquette  here  now,  so  that  our  degenerate  male  descendants,  in 
the  days  when  woman  shall  rule,  may,  should  they  stumble  upon 
this,  have  some  record  of  how  things  were  managed  before  the 
Flood  of  Female  Education. 

Perhai)s,  if  I  begin  with  the  freshman  and  his  troubles,  I 
may  show  better  how  our  rules  differ  from  those  of  the  outer 
world.  At  the  same  time,  I  must  say  that  I  am  speaking  of 
the  days  before  the  University  Commission,  for  since  then  the 
same  relations  no  longer  exist,  or  will  soon  cease  to  exist, 
between  freshmen  and  seniors.  The  former,  having  imbibed  the 
ideas  of  progress,  have  cast  aside,  as  effete  and  worn  out,  the 


UNIVERSITY  LIFE  AT  OXFORD.  377 

traditions  of  their  ancestors,  and  appear  in  the  light  of  Radicals 
and  Socialists.  Judging  from  the  rules  which  are  in  vogue  in 
polite  society,  it  is  probable  that  the  enterprising  freshman 
will,  before  coming  up,  possess  himself  of  some  cards  with  his 
patronymic  neatly  engraved  thereon,  intending  to  bestow  them 
on  his  friends  when  returning  their  visits.  But  woe  to  the 
unfortunate  who  does  this  thing !  In  no  more  marked  manner 
could  he  show  his  disregard  for  the  powers  that  be  in  Oxford 
society.  It  is  the  privilege  belonging  solely  to  the  senior 
to  distribute  his  pasteboard,  and  must,  on  no  account, 
be  usuq)ed  by  the  freshman.  No !  when  he  is  called  on  by 
his  senior  he  must  return  the  call  in  person,  and,  if  he  is  so 
unfortunate  as  to  find  his  friend  out,  he  must  not  leave  his 
card  as  a  mark  of  his  presence,  but  must  continue  his  calls 
until  he  does  find  the  gentleman  at  home.  Sometimes  this  is 
a  great  nuisance.  I  have  had  to  repeat  my  visits  half-a-dozen 
times,  and  even  then  should  never  have  found  my  friend,  but 
that,  taking  pity  on  my  j^erseverance,  which  he  had  heard 
of  through  his  "  scout,"  he  asked  me  to  breakfast.  When 
returning  calls  for  the  first  time  the  proper  hour  is  just  before 
afternoon  Chapel  or  Hall,  i.e.,  about  five  or  six  p.m.  At  the 
same  time  it  is,  I  think,  as  far  as  my  own  experience  has 
taught  me,  a  good  custom  that  a  freshman  should  not  merely 
leave  his  card  when  returning  your  call,  even  when  you  saw 
him  on  the  occasion  of  your  visit  to  him,  for  not  only  does  it 
teach  him  a  certain  amount  of  respect  for  his  seniors,  but  it 
gives  one  a  better  opportunity  of  knowing  a  man  before  asking 
him  to  breakfast  or  lunch — knowledge  which  is  invaluable  to 
one  who  knows  how  to  mix  his  friends.  The  freshman 
is,  however,  by  no  means  altogether  in  the  jKJwer  of  his  senior 
in  the  matter  of  hospitality,  for  though  he  must  not  presume 
to  ask  a  man  of  longer  standing  than  himself  to  his  rooms 
during  his  first  term,  yet  he  is  at  i>erfect  liberty,  after  that 
time,  to  use  his  own  discretion  as  to  which  of  the  seniors 
whose  hospitality  he  has  accepted  he  will  ask  in  retm-n.  From 
this  it  will  be  seen  that,  as  the  seniors  must  take  the  initiative, 
it  is  a  great  advantage  to  a  freshman  to  have  come  from  a 
large  public  school,  as  then  all  his  old  school-fellows  will  most 
likely  call  on  him,  and  being  scattered,  as  a  rule,  over  various 
colleges,  he  will  have  a  good  opportunity  of  seeing  Oxford  life 
in  its  many  diflFerent  aspects.  In  small  colleges  it  is  usually 
the  custom  for  the  seniors  to  call  on  all  freshmen,  in  order  that 
they  may  see  whether  there  is  any  likelihood  of  their  being 
useful  in  the  boat,  the  eleven,  or  from  a  social  point  of  view  ; 
but  in  the  larger  colleges,  where  thirty  or  forty  freshmen  come 
up  at  a  time,  this  is  impossible,  and  only  those  who  live  on  the 
same  staircase,  or  are  only  a  few  terms  senior,  or  have  some 
extraneous  reason,  call  on  them. 


378  UNIVERSITY  LIFE  AT  OXFORD. 

Thus,  more  or  less,  during  liis  first  term,  the  freshman  is  a 
child  of  circumstances,  and  though,  as  I  have  said,  in  his  after 
career  he  can  use  his  own  discretion  about  continuing  the 
acquaintances  he  has  made  already,  yet  the  friends  of  his  first 
term  have  a  great  influence  on  him  during  his  stay  up  here. 
He  forms  habits,  enters  a  "  set,"  contracts  manners  of  thinking 
which  leave  their  traces  in  all  his  after  life.  There  is  nothing 
harder  than  to  ••'  cut "  a  set  of  men  with  whom  you  have  once 
been  intimate — men  who  have  been  the  confidants  of  your 
outbursts  of  youthful  enthusiasm  and  des])air;  men  with  whom 
you  have  breakfasted,  lunched,  and  dined ;  who  have  shared 
your  studies  and  your  six)rts,  and  by  whose  advice  you  have 
been  more  or  less  guided.  But  to  most  freshmen  this 
experience  comes.  Not  one  man  in  a  hundred  is  in  the  same 
set  when  he  goes  down  as  when  he  came  up.  Some  friends 
you  always  retain,  but  they  are  very  often  friends  whom  you 
have  made  after  your  freshman's  term  was  over.  It  is  left  to 
the  discretion  of  the  senior  men  to  recognise  or  "cut"  when 
next  they  meet  the  freshman,  to  whom  they  may  have  been 
introduced  in  a  friend's  rot>ms,  and  even  later  on  in  one's 
'Varsity  career  it  is  not  necessary  for  one  man  to  know 
another  even  if  you  have  met  him  half-a-dozen  times  in  other 
men's  rooms,  imless  you  choose.  This  is  a  very  good  rule,  as  it 
enables  one  to  keep  the  list  of  one's  acquaintances  up  here 
select.  The  ordinary  mode  of  greeting  one's  friends  by  shaking 
hands,  when  you  meet  them  and  when  they  leave  you,  is  also 
quite  difi'erent  at  Oxford.  It  is  considered  a  sure  sign  of  a 
freshman  if,  when  you  go  to  his  rooms  to  call  on  him, 
supposing  you  have  been  previously  acquainted,  he  holds  out 
his  hand  to  you ;  for  up  here  it  is  customary  only  to  shake 
hands  when  you  meet  a  man  for  the  first  time  in  the  term,  or 
just  before  either  you  or  he  are  going  down.  But  when  first 
introduced  you  must  never  shake  hands.  The  reasons  for  these 
rules  are  very  obvious,  as  it  would  be  impossible  to  shake  hands 
whenever  one  said  "  Good  night "  or  *'  Good  morning  "  to  one's 
numerous  friends  at  Oxford,  however  possible  it  may  be  else- 
where. 

The  sight  that  always  causes  most  merriment  among  men  up 
here  is  a  freshman  walking  along  resplendent  in  his  academical 
robes,  wearing  them  possibly  for  the  first  time,  and  rejoicing,  as  he 
will  never  rejoice  in  them  again,  at  being  privileged  to  don  that 
garment — most  like  to  a  large  black  handkerchief — if  there  were 
such  a  thing,  with  two  holes  for  the  arms,  which  is  the  form  a 
commoners  gown  takes  up  here,  and  having  in  his  hand — Di 
immoHales  ! — a  walking  stick !  An  umbrella  in  wet  weather  is 
allowable,  but  from  a  walking  stick,  cap  and  gown,  heaven  preserve 
us.  Although  enjoined  by  the  statutes  of  the  'Varsity  to  wear  our 
academical  robes  before  noon  and  after  sunset,  men  up  here 


UNIVERSITY  LIFE  AT  OXFORD.  371> 

never  walk  about  in  them  unless  going  to  and  from  lectures^ 
chapel,  or  in  hall  at  dinner-time.  In  fact  it  is,  in  some  colleges, 
considered  infra  dig.  to  be  seen  in  cap  and  gown,  except  when 
one  is  absolutely  compelled  to  wear  them, and  then  it  is  a  mark  of 
— well  certainly  not  a  freshman — to  have  a  fragmentary  gown 
and  a  battered  cap.  But  so  attached  are  some  raw  freshmen  to 
these  insignia  of  rank,  that  not  only  do  they  keep  the  law  by 
wearing  cap  and  gown  in  the  morning  and  at  night,  but  it  is  a 
well-attested  fact  that  one  afternoon  on  the  Upper  River  there 
was  seen  the  awful  spectacle  of  an  undergraduate  sculling  in  a 
whiff,  clad  in  flannels,  cap,  and  gown  I  The  chaflf  that  poor 
wretch  must  have  undergone  would  require  a  pen  a  hundred 
times  more  eloquent  than  mine  to  describe. 

Smoking  in  the  streets,  although  specially  forbidden  by  the 
statutes,  is  excessively  practised  ;  but  it  is  not  considered  "  good 
form "  to  smoke  a  pipe  when  walking  down  the  High  in  the 
afternoon,  or,  indeed,  anywhere  in  Oxford;  but  after  dark 
one  may  smoke  anything  as  far  as  etiquette  is  concerned, 
possibly  because  no  ladies  are  about.  Smoking  when  in  cap 
and  gown  does  seem  rather  incongruous,  but  many  is  the 
cigarette  which  is  smoked  as  far  as  the  lecture  room  door,  or 
the  college  gates,  and  then  thrown  away  by  men  clad  in 
academical  costume.  Every  man  up  here,  non-smokers  as  well 
as  the  greatest  devotee  of  the  tobacco  god,  keeps  the  fragrant 
weed  under  some  form  or  other  for  the  benefit  of  his  friends ;. 
indeed  one  of  the  greatest  characteristics  of  Oxford  life  is  its 
great  hospitality.  One  of  the  most  curious  laws  of  etiquette  is 
yet  to  be  told — whence  it  arose,  or  why,  I  am  entirely  at  a  loss 
to  conjecture,  but  so  it  is.  You  must  never,  under  any 
pretence,  help  yourself  to  sugar  with  the  sugar-tongs — indeed,  in 
many  cases,  this  would  be  difficult,  as  in  college  no  one  has  them. 
It  is  customary,  in  most  colleges,  for  the  head  and  his- 
vicegerent  to  ask  all  freshmen  to  breakfast  during  their  first 
term.  It  is  not,  however,  the  custom  for  men  to  call  on  the 
dons  after  having  been  to  breakfast  with  them,  nor  must 
undergraduates  go  in  cap  and  gown  as  they  would  were  they 
visiting  their  tutors,  &c.,  officially.  The  relations  between 
tutor  and  undergraduate  are  those  of  one  gentleman  to  another, 
and  not  of  master  to  pupil ;  at  least  in  most  cases  this  rule 
would  hold  good.  Some  dons  there  are  who,  having  once 
wielded  the  scholastic  rod,  can  never  forget  the  fact,  and 
endeavour  to  import  into  University  life  the  tone  and  manner 
of  a  schoolmaster.  This  is  a  mistake  in  policy  and  a  moral 
injustice  ;  for,  in  the  first  place,  no  one  is  more  jealous  of  his 
dignity  than  he  who  has  just  attained  it,  and,  in  the  second 

Elace,  as  we  are  legally  responsible,  as  men,  being  supposed  ta 
ave    reached    manhood  on  joining  the  'Varsity,  ipso  factOy 


380  UNIVERSITY  LIFE  AT  OXFORD. 

it  is  only  fair  that  we  should  have  the  privileges  usually 
accorded  to  such  in  the  ordinary  worid. 

So  much  for  University  etiquette.  These  rules  hold  good 
everywhere  in  Oxford;  but  besides  these  general  laws  some 
•colleges  have  special  customs  of  their  own,  which  must  not  be 
broken  by  members  of  those  colleges.  At  Magdalene,  when 
dining  in  hall,  all  wait  for  grace  and  leave  together ;  at  Jesus, 
you  must  not  leave  till  the  rest  of  your  table  do.  In  most  of 
the  colleges  you  may  come  in  and  go  out  as  you  please. 
At  Jesus  again,  when  drinking  of  the  old  beer  for  which  the 
<;ollege  is  so  justly  famous,  and  which  is  served  to  you  itt 
silver  tankards,  it  is  considered  a  breach  of  etiquette  to  dose 
the  lid  imtil  the  tankard  is  finished. 

At  some  of  the  colleges  "sconces,"  or  fines  in  kind — at 
]\Iagdalene  a  bottle  of  sherry ;  at  Oriel,  Worcester,  and  Jesus 
a  quart  of  beer  or  stout — are  in  vogue  for  breaches  of  taUe 
etiquette,  talking  "shop,"  &c.,  which  are  inflicted  by  the 
senior  man  at  the  table  on  the  appeal  of  another  undergraduate. 
The  old  custom  of  wearing  black  coats  and  white  ties  in  Hall 
has  now  almost  died  out,  regretted,  I  think,  by  none.  Many 
other  customs  and  peculiarities  of  college  life  at  Oxford  might 
be  mentioned,  but  I  think  enough  for  my  purpose  has  been  said, 
much  of  which,  doubtless,  will  seem  strange  to  the  uninitiated 
reader.  It  is  generally  said  that  Oxford  men  are  reser\'ed  and 
-exclusive.  Such  may  seem  the  case,  and,  indeed,  is  so  to  some 
extent.  The  typical  Oxford  man  is  essentially  a  gentleman, 
and  he  can  never  pardon  any  breach  of  etiquette — social  or 
academical.  He  can  read  a  man  through  at  a  glance.  He 
may  but  hear  his  voice,  yet  he  is  seldom  wrong  in  his 
conclusion,  be  it  what  it  may.  Cold  and  haughty  he  may 
^eem  to  outsiders,  but,  for  those  who  know  him  better,  he 
has  an  open  heart  and  hand.  Sympathetic,  and  generous  to 
a  fault,  he  is  always  ready  to  help  his  firiend  by  every  means 
in  his  power,  and  to  stand  by  him  to  the  bitter  end.  Would 
England  had  more  such  men. 

Oxford,  Aah'Wedneaday,  iSSS.  Llyfr  Du. 


GOSSIP   FROM  THE    AVELSH    COLLEGES. 

ST.  DAVID'S  COLLEGE,  LAMPETER. 

A  few  days  after  my  last 
letter  vas  sent  off,  our 
n  Football  Team  Tcon  in  their 
■-j^  own  ground  a  well  con- 
\  tested  match  with  University 
,'i  College,  Aberystwith.  The 
visitors  were  accompanied 
i  by  several  of  their  Professors,. 
B  and  after  the  match,  all  were 
g  entertained  to  dinner  in  the 
K  College  Hall.  All  parties 
spent  a  very  pleasant  day,  and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  the 
badneHs  of  the  railway  communication  makes  such  friendly 
intercourse  between  the  two  Colleges  an  undertaking  of  some 
difficulty.  It  must,  however,  be  remarked  that  at  the  Athletic 
SiK>rtB  of  the  Aberystwith  College,  ou  March  17th,  several 
events  have  been  specially  thrown  open  to  Lampeter  men. 
Sach  friendly  rivalry  may  well  be  an  auspicious  prelude  to 
the  time  when  both  Colleges  will  have  become  members  of 
a  Common  National  University,  and  extend  their  contests 
from  the  football  Held  and  the  running  path  to  the  examination 
hall. 

St,  David's  Day  was  celebrated  by  us  with  the  usual  jjatriotic 
ceremonies.  In  the  morning,  Canon  Griffiths,  of  Machynllefli,. 
preached  an  excellent  Welsh  sermon  to  a  large  congreg<ition, 
at  a  full  choral  Welsh  service  in  the  College  Chapel.  The 
degree  of  B.D.  was  next  conferred  by  the  Principal  on  Mr. 
GifTord  Wood,  of  Swansea,  who  had  passed  the  examination  last 
June,  but  had  not  then  been  five  years  in  priest's  orders,  as  the 
charter  requires.  Then  at  six  o'clock  came  a  dinner  in 
Hall,  as  a  fit  conclusion  to  the  busy  day.  Including  the  staff, 
about  90  present  members  of  the  College  sat  down.  It  is  to  be 
regretted  that  the  small  dimensions  of  the  Hall  made  it 
impossible  to  invite  many  guests  to  so  pleasant  a  gathering. 
Except  a  few  neighbours  and  old  students,  it  was  quite  a  family 
party. 

The  end  of  Term  has  been  productive  of  several  pieces  of 
College  news.  All  Lampeter  men  have  felt  the  greatest 
pleasure  at  the  appointment  of  the  late  Professor  Edmondes  as 
Archdeacon  of  St.  David's.  Professor  Tort  has  been  elected 
to  a  Fellowship  at  Pembroke  College,  Oxford, 


382         GOSSIP  FROM  THE  \ST,LSH  COLLEGES. 

The  late  Professor  Lias  has  been  appointed  Hulsean  lectaier 
at  Cambridge,  in  sncceasion  to  Mr.  Watson,  of  St.  John'ti, 
liimself  our  present  Cambridge  Ksaminer.  Lord  Emlyii,  M.P, 
lins  been  nominated  by  the  ^'isitor,  the  Bishop  of  St.  EteTid**, 
aa  Sub-Viaitor,  in  place  of  the  late  Bishop  Ollivant.  The 
Memoranda  for  1883have  just  been  issued,  and  show  that  the 
College  Board  is  still  busy  in  its  work  of  remodelling  the 
furriculum  of  the  College. 

Term  ended  on  Friday,  March  Ifith;  the  last  days  of  whidi 
were  occupied  with  the  annual  Welsh  Examination,  conducted 
by  the  Archdeacon  of  LlandafT.  The  result  will  be  out  at  the 
beginning  of  next  Term.  T. 


T.'Nn'ERSlTY  COLLEGE   OF  WALES,  ABERYSnVYTH. 

I^ent  Term  is  now  rapidly  draw- 
ing towards  its  close,  and  if  there 
is  really  a  time  when  every  student 
-  thinks  seriously,  the  lazy  one 
whether  his  life  has  been  worth 
living, and  the  earnest  one  whether 
his  work  has  been  systematic 
1^'-^,  enough,  that  time  in  our  case 
VyT*.  must  be  the  end  of  this  Irfnt 
"  jfTenn.  For  examinations  hare  a 
strange  [wner  of  making  a  man 
;'  concentrate  his  thought  and  re- 
ji  searches  on  a  certain  definite 
''  field,  and  it  is  in  this  term  that 
the  reality  of  an  examination  must  be  felt  by  all.  During 
Michaelmas  Term  the  examinations  are  felt  to  be  comfortably 
distant,  their  grim  presence  is  seen  only  through  the  lengthy 
vista  of  three  whole  terms,  and  "  Distance  lends  enchantment 
to  the  view."  A  few  students,  indeed,  there  are,  always 
working  for  the  January  London  JIatriculation,  but  the  majority 
can  work  at  their  ease,  paying  a  good  deal  of  attention  to  their 
own  taste  in  reading,  and  very  little  to  that  of  the  examine. 
Easter  Term,  again,  is  the  sunny  term  of  the  session,  a  term 
when  the  beach  is  crowded  with  visitors,  and  when  the  country 
is  dressed  in  all  the  glory  of  summer — a  term  when  life  ia 
spent  gaily  around  us,  and  a  term  when  it  is  very  difficult  for  a 
student  to  do  any  hard  work.  The  professor  who  dreams  that 
his  men  will  work  hard  next  term  must  be  wonderfully 
ignorant  of  human  nature,  and  the  student  who  buoys  himself 
up  with  the  fond  hope  o£  redeeTmn£Vc(e\,\.Yaift  Aswva^lt  most 


GOSSIP  FROM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES.        383 

count  upon  having  a  nature  on  which  the  attractions  of  a  lively 
and  pretty  watering-place  will  be  vain,  and  I  have  rarely  seen  a 
student  with  a  nature  anything  of  the  kind.     So  that  whatever 
terror  the  summer  examination  may  have,  comes  home  to  us 
in  leaving  for  the  Easter  holidays  ;  the  untroubled  life  which 
every  student  enjoys  during  the  lirst  term  cf  the  session  has 
now  at  the  end  of  this  given  place  to  one  of  satisfaction  at  work 
done  on  the  part  of  some,  and  to  that  of  anxiety  for  the  here- 
after in  others,  an  anxiety  often  but  too  well  founded  when  it 
dawns  on  the  mind  of  the  man  that  he  has  been  lazy,  or  that 
he  has  been  roaming  over  too  wide  a  field.     Happy  is  the  man 
who  can  look  back  upon  the  work  of  the  past  two  terms  with  a 
clear  conscience  ;  his  lot  is  truly  enviable  who  find3  that  next 
term  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  revise  work  done,  and  think, 
while  the  beauties  of  summer  give  him  inspiration,  how  to 
express  his  knowledge  in  the  clearest  and  loveliest  form.     For 
whatever  other  advantage  any  town  further  north  may  have,  I 
am  sure  of  this — that  in  the  attractions  of  summer  Aberystwyth 
beats  them  all.     I  have  seen  Carnarvon,  when  the  view  from  the 
Eagle's  Tower  of  its  castle  was  mogt  magnificent.     I  have  seen 
Rhyl  when  the  Vale  of  Clwyd  deserved  all  the  i^raise  that  many 
an  old  Welsh  song  demands  for  it.     I  have  seen  Bala  with  its 
lake  as  calm  and  as  clear  as  a  mirror  reflecting  the  snowy  swan 
floating  gracefully  on  it,  or  the  mighty  Aran  towering  above  it, 
but  not  one  of  them  can  compete  with  Aberystwyth  in  the 
attractions  which  will  next  term  make  our  surroundings  wear 
an  appearance  of  so  great  a  happiness,  and  hard  study  so  great 
a  difficulty. 

The  coming  Athletic  Sports  are  now  all  the  talk.  Football 
is,  of  course,  over,  the  career  of  the  teams  having  been  marked 
by  no  important  victory.  We  are  surrounded  by  Association 
teams,  but  there  is  no  Rugby  team  nearer  than  Lampeter,  and 
the  ease  with  which  we  are  beaten,  whenever  we  go  to  Lampeter, 
is  enough  to  make  us  despair  of  ever  getting  a  good  team. 
Boating  will  be  in  full  swing  as  soon  as  the  Athletic  Sports  are 
over.  The  Secretaries  of  the  sports  have  done  their  work  well 
so  far,  and  only  look  for  fine  weather  in  order  to  be  thoroughly 
successful ;  the  myriad  snow-flakes  which  filled  the  air  for  a 
few  days,  like  the  ghost  of  departed  winter  reappearing,  dis- 
mayed us  a  little,  but  confidence  has  been  restored  with  the 
glorious  weather  we  now  have. 

The  Debating  Society,  ably  presided  over  this  season  by 
Professor  Genese,  held  its  last  meeting  last  evening,  when  the 
idea  of  a  Republican  England,  though  eloquently  advocated  by 
a  few  speakers,  drew  out  a  number  of  speeches  which  showed 
how  a  study  of  English  history  has  endeared  the  British  Con* 
stitution  in  its  present  form  to  their  minda* 

March  dth,  1 883.  Ci  •  ^4IL"E^ 


DRACONIGENiE. 


A  correspondent  writes  : — "  Can  any  of  your  readers  infiim 
me  as  to  who  was  the  notorious  Pryse  cited  in  the  followiM 
TribanaUy  and  when  he  lived  ?  ": — 

"  Ca'dd  Pryse  <»  Bont  y  Pandy, 
Rhyw  golle<i  fawr  eleni ; 
Sef  CiJliV  ty  oedd  uwch  ei  ben, 
A  phart  o  breu  ei  wely. 

Mae  Pryse  o  J3(»nt  y  Pandy 

Yn  UT  a  hivedda'i  grogi ; 
Mae'n  hiido'r  nierched  wrth  y  cant, 

A  thaflu'r  plant  i  foddi.'* 

*   • 
* 

Half-a-dozen  years  ago  a  Welsh  poet  in  the  WesteT^n  Mail 
*'  claimed  the  cuckoo  as  a  Cymric  bird,  because  he  is  always 
repeating  the  Welsh  word  civcwJ'  On  seeing  this  a  scoffing 
Saxon  at  Oxford  sent  to  the  same  paper  some  lines  intended  a» 
satire  on  the  Welshman's  belief,  and  these  lines,  in  their  tom^ 
were  translated  into  Welsh  in  the  "  Bye-gones  "  column  of  the 
Osivestry  Advertiser,     We  give  them  both  below: — 

Hen  Gymro  gwych  oedd  Adda, 

Gwr  (>  Frycheiniog  wen  ; 
A  Chjanro  ydyw'r  (iwcw 

A  gan  ar  frig  y  pren. 
A  Chyinro  y  w'r  Genninen 

A  dyfai  yng  Ngwynfa  d^r, 
A  Chymro  yw'r  (Twningen 

Sy'ii  gwneud  y  bastai  bdr. 

Hen  Gymn)  glAn  oedd  Noah, 

A  wiiaeth  ei  arch  o  gued, 
Gan  dori  dcrw  Cymm 

Na  bu  ei  bath  erioed. 
A  Solomon  oedd  Gyuiro, 

Ei  bres  o  Gymru  gai  ; 
Caradog  euro  gwlodydd 

Wrth  yfed  medd  a  wnai. 

Gwr  (Jyniro  yw'r  Frenines, 

Ab  Tudur  yw  ein  ll3rw  ; 
Tywysog  Cymm,  Cymro 

O  Gaer  yn  Arfon  yw. 
Pob  d}n,  ix)b  peth  sy  CJymro 

Dro8  wyneb  daear  gron  : 
Clych  Aberdyfi,  cenwch 

**  Cly wch !  clywch  I"  ar  dir  a  thon ! 

Every  patriotic  Welshman  knows  that  what  the  Saxon  meant 
for  satire  is  only  gospel  truth  !  Was  not  Welsh  spoken  in  Eden, 
and  will  it  not  be  the  language  of  Heaven  ?  We  have  reason  to 
believe  that  the  translation  of  the  Oxford  lines  was  the  work  of 
a  versatile  and  accomplished  Welsh  scholar,  well  known  in 
collegiate  circles.  It  is  certainly  an  improvement  on  the 
original. 


Adam  was  a  Welshman — 

Brecon  man  was  he  ; 
Cuckoo  was  a  Welshman, 

Singing  up  a  tree  ; 
Leek  he  wan  a  Welsh  plant-  - 

Grow  in  Paradise  ; 
Rabbit  was  a  Welshman — 

Welsh  rabbit  nice. 

Noah  w«8  a  Welshman — 

Built  his  ark  of  wood  ; 
Cutting  down  the  Welsh  oak, 

Found  it  very  good. 
Solomon  a  Welshman — 

Got  his  tin  from  Wales  ; 
Caractacus  lick  all  the  world 

Because  he  drink  Welsh  ales  ; 

(^ueen  she  was  a  Welshman — 

Ap  Twdr  was  her  name  ; 
Prince  of  Wales  a  Welshman — 

From  Carnarvon  came. 
Everybody  Welshman — 

Welshman  everything ; 
Clywch  !  clywch  !    Let  the  bells 

Of  Aberdovey  ring. 


\ 


.  1 


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t  ; 


'  t 


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I      ' 

,.11 


I  . 


I  ■  ■ 


.'III 


.        i       ■  t.  .      ■   .-.    . 

■   I..-  »'•      '■  '.     ■   ■ 

I 

I-      ■    :■■  '      •       '■'.>•     :i'»'        ■•  :    . 

:■•      fU,      .      II  "I      I'  ■  »f  ■      .         I  '     ■ 

It.-'  ;-r.^:i»    "I     •   ■  j. ■■■■:•  .11      ■  ■  ■»      i' 

••!  ■■  •  '.:i  ii  .*:),'    .  •  :i'..'   .-^^      I  |i.  \.      . :' 


4l.- 


NOTABLE   MEN   OF   WALES. 


«  BRUTUS." 


For  reasons  best  known  to  themselves,  but  which  outsiders 
are  at  liberty  to  guess,  it  seems   to  have  been  customary  from 
old  with  the  Welsh  bards,   and  even   with  some  prosaists,  to 
affix   or  prefix   fictitious   names   to  their   lucubrations.      The 
nom  de  plume  has  been  and  continues  to  be  the  safe  hiding- 
place   of  literary  assassins,  lampooners  and  squib-mongers.     It 
serves  also  as  a  tower  of  defence  to  a  sensitive,  timid,  tentative 
writer,  attempting  his  first  essay  on  the  wide  field  of  literature, 
and  tremblingly  alive  to  the  nature  of  the  verdict  which  will  be 
pronounced  on  his  first-bom   brain-bairn.     It  is  also  of  use  to  a 
novice  as  a  writer,  though  not  as  a  thinker,  who  feels  he  bears  no 
name  possessing  "  authority  on   matters  of  opinion,"  and  that 
in  venturing  to  broach  new  theories,  and  assail  old  institutions 
overlain    with    the    obesity    of   long-continued     abuse     and 
corruptions,  he  desires  only  to   elicit  an   honest  opinion  of  his 
statements,  unbiased,  favourably  or  otherwise,  by  any  knowledge 
of  the  author.     It  is  serviceable  also  to  a  writer  who  prefers  a 
slashing  review  of  his  productions   to   the   doubtful   congratu- 
lations of  self-serving  flatterers.     It  amuses  and  tickles  the  fancy 
of  reticent  men  to  hear  of  the  various  attempts  made  to  swear 
the  fatherhood  of  their   bantlings.     Not  many  English  writers 
have  sought  shelter  under  cover  of  the  anonymous.   Thackeray 
came   out  first   as   Michael  Angelo  Titmarsh,  Dickens  as  Boz^ 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  for  want  of  any  name,  by  the  highly  compli- 
mentary designation  "The  Great  Unknown,"  wliile  the  real  flesh 
and  blood  wielder  of  the  scorpion  whip  with  which  he  lashed 
political  magnatess   imder   the  pseudonym  of  "  Junius  "  is  not 
yet  satisfactorily  identified.     He  may  or  may  not  have   been 
Sir  Philip  Francis.     The  fewness  of  Welsh  family  names  is  one 
strong  reason  in  modem  times  at  least  for  the  prevalent  practice 
of  adopting  fictitious  names  by  such  of  our  countrymen  as  affect 
literature,  there  being  not  many  more  than  thirty,  patronymic^ 
among  a  million   of  2>eople.     The  sole  use  of  a  name   is   to 
distinguish   one  person  from  another  at  the  least  expenditure 
of  breath  and  vocables.     How,  without  some  auxiliary  affix  or 
prefix,  can  one  Welshman  be  distinguished  from  anothef  ?    Itl  ^ 

z 


386  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

letter  from  the  late  Dr.  Kowland  Williams,  written  at  Broad- 
chalk,  and  dated  July  21st,  1862,  is  the  following  |)ostsoript: — 
*' Might  not  the  recent  light  on  I  he  law  of  surnames  enable  our 
compatriots  to  take  only  British  and  distinctive  names,  like  the 
Cornish,  Uoedmorey  Bryninor^  Treinain^  TreA(yinverthy  instead 
of  Anglicisms,  ending  in  sibilants,  neither  natural  nor 
distinctive,  like  Jones,  Hughes,  &c.  No  real  Welsh  name  ends 
in  a  sibilant  except  Rhys.  At  I^ampeter,  the  common  people 
\^ould  never  have  pretended  to  Anglicising  names  but  for  clerks 
and  officials.  Names  of  farms,  hills,  rivers,  occupations  {8aei\ 
guf)  would  give  a  native  variety  wliich  might  be  sanctioned  by 
a  grand  Eisteddfod.     All  this  is  apropos  of—." 

The  Welsh  bards  seem  desirous  of  making  new  names  for 
themselves  in  preference  to  being  known  by  those  given  them 
by  their  parents,  and  to  the  limited  number  who  have  succeeded 
in  doing  this  we  are  indebted  for  the  convenience  of  knowing 
and  describing  them  without  the  aid  of  one  or  more  adjunct*. 
Some  of  these  pseudonyms  are  commemorative  of  particular 
places  whence  the  writers  hailed.  Others  are  descriptive  of 
some  physical  quality.  Some  are  pretty,  many  ugly,  and  not  a 
few  ridiculous,  being  little  better  than  nicknames.  Two 
rhymers,  or  bards  as  they  thought,  composed  an  elegy  on  the 
death  of  an  English  lady:  one  styled  himself  Juvenisy  and  the 
other,  ApHl  Fool.  The  deceased's  father-in-law,  who  was  a 
wit  and  a  wag,  on  reading  these  signatures  observed  that  if 
Juvenis  lived  a  few  more  years  he  would  have  to  change  his 
name,  but  as  for  the  other  signitor}^,  he  would  have  no  occasion 
to  do  anything  of  the  kind,  if  he  lived  as  long  even  as 
Methuselah. 

The  most  dangerous  thing  that  parents,  unless  possessed  of 
prophetic  vision,  can  do  is  to  give  the  names  of  distinguished 
men  to  their  children.  Imagine  a  poor  unfortunate  wight 
condemned  through  life  to  carry  on  his  shoulders  the  weight  of 
Solomon's  name,  when  a  gander,  unless  furnished  with  more 
brain,  would  decline  the  responsibility  of  governing  his  cackling 
harem.  Fancy  a  poor  stutterer  called  Bright  or  (fladstone,  and 
a  man  ready  at  any  moment  to  run  away  from  his  own  shadow 
misnamed  Livingstone  or  Stanley,  or  some  country  stitcher  or 
cobbler  taking  the  names  of  Homer,  Alfred,  or  Cromwell  in  vain  I 
Penal  servitude  would  be  preferable  to  this.  There  is  much  in 
a  name,  especially  if  made  illustrious  and  distinctive  by  any 
high  service. 

All  these  prefatory  remarks  are,  as  Dr.  Rowland  Williamii 
observed  in  reference  to  another  person,  emphatically  apropos 
of  BrutuSyWhose  real  name, when  he  reached  manhood, was  David 
Owen,  but  when  a  boy,  and  during  the  earlier  stages  of  adulthood, 
David  Benjamin,  and  by  abbreviation,  Benja,and  by  a  cormptioii 
of  that  word  again,  Bensha.   He  was  the  son  of  Benjamin  (hran^ 


« BRUTUS."  387 

who  was  a  shoemaker  by  trade,  and  who  added  to  that  useful 
calling  the  functions  of  parish  clerk  at  lilanpumpsant,  five 
miles  from  Carmarthen,  where,  towards  the  close  of  the  last 
century,  he  was  bora.  The  old-fashioned  practice  of  converting 
the  Christian  name  of  the  father  into  the  surname  of  the  son, 
once  almost  universally  prevalent  among  the  common  people 
of  Wales,  and  still  too  general  to  render  easy  and  satisfactory 
the  researches  of  the  genealogist,  accounts  for  the  successive 
<ihanges  in  Brutus's  genuine  patronymic.  The  father,  by  the 
union  of  subordinate  ecclesiastical  duties  with  shoemaking  and 
cobbling  for  his  neighbours,  had  succeeded  in  surrounding 
himself  with  plain  but  substantial  comforts.  He  lived  in  a 
neat  white-washed  cottage,  kept  a  cow,  and  fed  a  grunter, 
unmannerly  enough  in  life,  but  in  the  state  of  bacon  eligible 
for  admission  into  kings'  houses.  Such  being  the  condition  of 
the  establishment,  ap  Benjamin  was  in  his  uprearing  well  fed 
and  warmly  clad.  He  also  had  as  good  a  schooling  as  the  more 
prosperous  sons  of  neighbouring  farmers  and  freeholders. 
Among  his  schoolfellows  were  four  sons  of  the  owner  of 
Tredaren,  who  were  a  race  of  giants,  the  shortest  being  six  feet 
and  two  inches  high,  and  the  tallest  four  inches  more.  One  of 
these  Anakites  made  a  name  for  himself,  for  after  a  prosperous 
business  career,  he  became  M.P.  for  Coventry,  and  subsequently 
for  Lambeth.  He  was  well  known  in  Wales  for  many  years  as 
*'  Williams  of  Coventrv,"  for  want  of  a  distinctive  surname.  He 
was  often  heard  to  express  his  regret  that  he  had  not  in  early 
life  adopted  the  name  of  Tredaren,  where  he  was  born.  And  now 
that  he  has  been  gone  to  the  majority  for  some  years  it  is  only 
common  justice,  to  say  nothing  of  gratitude,  to  acknowledge  his 
great  services  as  the  originator  of  a  national  movement  for 
promoting  popular  education  in  Wales,  by  first  of  all  obtaining, 
in  1846,  from  Ix)rd  John  Russell's  Ministry, the  appointment  of  a 
"  commission  of  inquiry  into  the  state  of  education,  and 
especially  into  the  means  afibrded  to  the  labouring  classes  of 
acquiring  a  knowledge  of  the  English  language."  It  was  not 
.  without  great  difficulty  and  earnest,  judicious  pleading  that  he 
succeeded  in  securing  so  small  a  concession  to  a  people 
proverbial  for  their  loyalty,  and  who  for  centuries  had  been  left  to 
subsist  entirely  on  words  with  which  every  schoolboy  is  very 
familiar  as  having  figured  at  the  top  line  of  his  writing  copy- 
book under  the  letter  "  V  " — "  Virtue  is  its  own  reward."  No 
one,  if  he  were  now  living,  would  rejoice  more  heartily 
than  he  at  the  progress  since  made  by  a  cause  which  he 
started,  and  which  he  boldly,  persistently,  and  unweariedly 
advocated  through  good  and  evil  report  in  the  day  of  its  *'  small 
things."  It  was  only  natural  that,  originally  a  monoglot 
Welshman,  and  having  had  to  pay  the  heavy  penalty  of  being 
£0  ham2)ered,  he  should,  as  a  true  patriot,  desire  {ot  \iV^  ^^^^t 

Z  2 


I 
i 

\  388  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

struggling  countrymen  a  knowledge  of  English,  spoken  by 
millions  of  the  tirst  business  men  the  world  has  ever  seen,  and 
without  which  no  Welshman  has  ever  been  able  to  acquire 
wealth,  learning,  social  elevation  and  influence.  Tht*  Welsh 
language  as  an  exclusive  vehicle  of  thought  he  regarcie<l  as  the 

'^  greatest  hindnmce  to  the  advancement  of  his  countrymen  ;  and 

he  used  to  denounce  eist<*ddfixlau  and  all  kindred    institutions, 

•  and  not  always  without   "curses loud  and  deep,''  as  condemning 

the  people  to  dwell  for  ever  "  cribbed,  cabined,  and  confined  " 
within  the  narrow  bounds  of  "little "  Wales,  and  making 
"  small  by  degrees,  and  ruinously  less,'*  their  chances  of  succesfi 
in  the  battle  of  life.  This  small  pi^bble  is  thrown  on  his  cairn 
by  one  who  knew  him  well,  and  who  will  never  cease  to  admire 
his  enlightened,  genuine  patriotism. 

A  person  once  observed  to  Brutus  that  Mr.  Williams  was  "a 
man  of  (normally)  skin-flint  carefulness,  and  of  exceptionally 
bouncing  generosity."  He  had  just  then  published  a  printed 
appeal  to  Welsh  landlords,  of  whom  he  was  a  small  one,  as  he 
took  care  to  inform  them,  asking  for  contributions  towards 
erecting  a  Normal  College  for  training  schoolmasters,  he  himself 
ofTe ring  £';'()()  towards  the  object.  **  Yes,''  replied  Brutus,  on 
learning  this,  '*  I  can  testify  from  personal  knowledge  that  he 
was,  when  a  boy,  vi»ry  economical,  for  1  recollect  observing  that 
on  the  blank  sides  of  the  long  narrow  sums  in  Ijong  Division, 
entered  in  his  cij)hering  copy  book,  he  had  drawn  the  likeness 
«>f  cocks  and  hens,  that  th<»  vacant  spaces  might  be  turned  into 
some  account  inst(»ad  of  lying  waste  and  unproductive.''  Another 
instanc(M)f  the  child  being  the  father  of  the  man.  Ap  Benjamin, 
in  conse(juence  of  his  father  being  i)retty  well  to  do  as  a  village 
tradesman,  was  put  to  learn  Latin  before  he  had  been  taught 
much  Knglish  and  no  arithmetic — a  too  common,  though  sense- 
h^ss,  order  of  study  prescribed  by  schoolmasters  a  hundred  years 
ago,  the  folly  of  which  received  amusing  illustration  from  un 
incid(»nt  which  shall  be  related  in  the  poor  scholar's  own  words : — 
Our  cow  died,  and  my  father,  to  save  himself  the  trouble,  I 
8U])pos(»,  of  making  the  calculation,  asked  me  to  tell  him  ho'w 
much  h(?r  skin  would  fetch  at  so  much  a  pound.  I  was  dumb- 
foundered,  for  I  had  no  knowledge  whatever  of  even  the  first 
four  rules  of  arithmetic,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Kule  of  Three, 
On  confessing  n)y  ignorance  he  flew  into  a  fearful  rage,  and 
thundered  diverstj  threatenings  which  I  momentarily  feared 
might  be  carried  into  execution  by  means  of  a  well-known 
leather  strap  in  the  workshop,  with  which  I  had  no  particulai 
wish  to  renew  the  acquaintance.  "Here,"  said  my  father,  ''is 
a  pretty  state  of  things,  after  all  the  schooling  you  have  had, 

j  Here   you   have   been   for  weeks,  morning,  noon,  and  night, 

!  dinning  your  mother's  ears  and  my  own  with  your  Aic,  haec^noc^ 

&Bd  your  ^amavamj   and  ^out  *ama^^a8J  \i»$i  ^wa  ^anuLwitJ 


« BRUTUS."  389 

I'll  'araavani^  you,  for  when  I  go  to  Carmarthen  next  Satur- 
day I  will  buy  a  slate  and  a  stout  pencil,  so  that  you  may  know 
how  to  cast  up  accounts."  Having  considerably  relieved  himself 
by  the  announcement  of  this  proposed  change  in  my  course  of 
study,  the  storm  subsided. 

Our  hopeful  of  little  Latin,  less  English,  and  no  arithmetic,  had 
oiily  just  entered  his  teens  when  he  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  be 
initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  the  black  art,  of  which  a  Mr.  Lewis, 
the  clergyman  of  the  neighbouring  parish  of  Cynwil,  was,  according 
to  country  report,  an  accomplished  master.     In   olden  times 
every  scholar  was  supposed  to  know  the  art  of  conjuring,  and  W) 
long  as  this  belief  prevailed  it  was  a  greater  protection  to  person 
and  property  than  if  the  conjurer  had  a  dozen  policemen  in 
plain  clothes  about  him.     Brutus  called  one  day  on  this  gentle- 
man, and  asked  him  to  recommend  the  best  book   he  knew 
treating  of  the  occult  art.     The  parson,  who  was  full  of  good 
nature  and  waggish  humour,  listened  patiently  to  all  the  lad 
had  to  say,  and  the  interview  ended  with  the  promised  loan  or 
gift  of  a  work  on  the  subject,  for  which  the  applicant  was  to  call 
on  a  certain  day.     The  boy  was  in  no  danger  of  forgetting  the 
date,  and  when  the  jiarson  made  his  appearance  he  had  the 
book  ready  packed  and  sealed.     Holding  it  in  his  hand,  Mr. 
J^ewis  thus  addressed  him  :  "  Here  is  the  book,  which  I  have 
carefully  enclosed  in  seven  sheets  of  paper,  with  a  seal  on  each. 
Now  you  must  not,  at  your  peril,  open  these  seals  before  to- 
morrow morning — not,  mind,  in  the  presence  of  a  single  human 
being,   but  alone,   and  not  under   cover  of  the   roof  of  any 
dwelling-house.     Now  take  it,  and  keep  it,  for  I  present  you 
with  it."     The  lad  returned  home  as  proud  as  if  he  had  been  put 
in  possession  of  the  philosopher's  stone.     In  his  sleep  that  night 
he  saw  many  visions,  some  grand,  some  enchanting,  some  terrific. 
At  break  of  day  he  hurriedly  got  up,  and,  with  the  key  of  the 
mysteries  in  his  hand,  sought  the  seclusion  of  an  outhouse,  and 
began  with  trembling  hands  and  palpitating  heart  to  open  the 
seals,  one  after  another,  until  he  came  to  the  last,  when,  as 
the  final  veil  between  him  and  the  unknown  mysteries  met  his 
eye,  a  great  fear  took  hold  of  him.     At  length,  however,  he 
mustered  courage  enough  to  break  the  seventh  seal,  when,  to 
bis  suqirise,  disappointment,  and  indignation,  what  should  the 
substantial  enclosiu'e  under  the  protection  of  seven  seals  be 
but  an  innocent  enough  looking  copy  of  Ward's  Latin  Grammar  I 
He  was   savage,  but  durst  not  utter  a  syllable  to  any  one  about 
him  of  the  way  in  which  he  had  been  treated  by  the  parson, 
or  he  would  never  have  heard  the  last  of  it. 

Some  short  time  after  he  accidentally  met  the  clergyman, 
who,  with  a  roguish  expression  in  his  face,  asked  him  m  «.  txsf^^ 
of  assumed  interest  how  he  was  getting  ou  mXXi\i\a  c«tLyQxv!0%* 
"  Conjuring,  indeed  I"  replied  the  \ad,  in  au  VuvsixeAL  Vya»  A 


390  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALE8. 

voice  ;  '*  why  did  you  make  such  a  fool  of  me  — a  poor,  simple, 
confiding  country  boy  ?" 

"Just,  my  dear  lad,  to  show  you,''  said  the  parson,  "that  the 
whole  thing  is  a  humbug  and  an  infamous  imposture/' 

This  gentleman  was  possessed  of  good  sense,  having  too  g^eat 
a  resi)ect  fov  logic  and  reason  to  use  them  for  puq>oses  much 
bett(T  answered  by  ridicule  and  laughter. 

Finding  that  David's  growing  love  of  books  seemed  to  prophesy 
that  it  must  be  not  bv  handicmft,  but  bv  brain-work  of  some 
sort  that  he  was  to  earn  his  bread,  his  father  sent  him  to  a 
Dr.  Thomas,  of  Aberduar,  a  small  hamlet  near  Llanybyther,  now 
a  station  on  the  Manchester  and  Milford  Kailwav,  five  miles 
below  J^ampeter,  who  had  an  extensive  practice  in  that  neigh- 
bourhood, with  a  view  of  learning  the  medical  profession.  He 
may  have  been  apprenticed,  or,  if  not,  put  to  jjrepare  and  dis- 
pense medicine.  He  continued  here  for  a  season,  dividing  his 
time  between  making  pills,  filling,  corking,  labelling  bottles 
containing  a  liberal  allowance  of  water  to  a  few  drops  of  some 
other  and  rarer  li([uid,  mixing  powders, extracting  teeth,  bleeding 
plethoric  mortals,  flirting  with  all  th(i  pretty  girls  of  the 
district,  and,  during  winter  nights,  sitting  up  near  stiles  over 
lonely  paths  along  which  belated  men,  women,  and  ehildn*n 
went  on  errands,  large  turnips,  scooped  into  frightfully  ugly 
representations  of  skulls,  with  hollow  mouths  or  grinning 
teeth,  and  a  lighted  candle  inside,  on  seeing  which  the  poia* 
frightened  wayfarers  would  fall  down  on  their  marrow-bones, 
praying  lustily  to  Providence*  and  their  guardian  angels  to 
deliver  them  from  the  horrible  sjiectre.  When  the  mischief- 
maker,  who  was  nigh,  but  hidden  by  the  darkness,  saw  and 
heard  all  this  he  had  received  his  reward.  But  he  grew  tired  of  all 
this  kin<l  of  prankish  life,  took  a  serious  turn,  joined  a  Ba])tist 
church  in  the  place,  and  was  immersed  by  its  i)astor,  who  was  a 
brother  of  the  doctor.  His  preference  for  this  body  of  Christians 
may  have  arisen  from  the  circumstance  that  his  mother  was  a 
member  of  that  persuasion.  Brain  enough  and  to  spare  had 
David  Benjamin,  and  admiration  of  natural  iibility  has  often 
been  a  more  moving  cause  in  introducing  young  men  into 
Dissenting  pulpits  than  other  more  solid  and  enduring,  but  less 
showy,  (jualifications  for  the  Christian  ministry.  Duly  certified 
as  to  talent  and  character,  he  obtained  admission  into  a  Baptist 
College,  where  that  unique  genius,  Kobert  Hall,  was  educated. 
WhitTier^he  went  by  the  more  respectable  name  of  Ap  Owen,  clad 
in  a  suit  of  homespun,  consisting  of  a  dress  coat,  with  square 
skirts,  outside  pockets,  double-breasted  vest,  close-fitting  knee- 
breeches,  and  gaiters  cut  and  made  by  a  country  stitcher.  The 
dress,  like  that  genemlly  worn  by  all  Dissenting  ministers  in 
Wales  at  that  time,  was  the  very  opposite  of  clerical,  but  there 
was  iiMid^it  as  finely  built  a  frame  as  had  ever  been  measured 


'^  BRUTUS."  391 

by  any  Bristol  tailor  ;  while  on  his  broad  shoulders  there  was  a 
head,  not  a  mere  hat-peg.  lie  remained  there  only  one  year. 
[t  was  the  i)rime  mistake  of  his  life.^  His  naturally  hot  Celtic 
blood  and  proud  spirit  could  not  brook  certain  offences  which 
it  would  have  paid  him  better  to  have  dropped  into  a  pocket 
with  a  big  liole  at  the  bottom.  It  is  likely  enough  that  a  raw 
country  lad  was  guilty  of  small  violations  of  social  propriety, 
which  ex2)osed  him  to  the  jokes  and  gibes  of  his  Saxon  fellow- 
students  brought  up  among  conventional  surroundings.  He  took 
special  umbrage  at  being  designated  the  "  Welshman,"  which 
he  told  them  very  plainly  he  did  not  like,  and  would  not  put 
up  with.  He  was  a  Welshman,  and  proud,  as  he  had  every 
reason  to  be  proud,  of  being  one ;  but  he  resented  being  marked 
out  after  that  pointed  fashion.  The  authorities  of  the  college 
had  also  treated  him  in  too  cavalier  a  style  to  suit  the  temper 
of  an  anci(*nt  Briton,  and  nursing  these,  very  probably  only 
sentimental  grievances,  he,  instead  of  returning  to  Bristol  at 
the  commencement  of  the  second  year,  went  and  buried 
himself  in  North  Wales — "  Pouted,  the  unmitigated  ass  that  I 
was,"  he  would  say,  "  and  thought  I  could  punish  these  Bristol 
folks  by  severing  my  connection  with  them.  Can  you,"  he 
would  ask,  "conceive  of  the  incomparable  conceit  of  an 
uncultivated  country  clown  acting  in  so  insane  and  suicidal  a 
way  r 

It  was  as  the  pastor  of  a  handful  of  poor  people,  meeting  for 
worship  in  a  small  rustic  synagogue  at  Aber,  once  the  residence 
of  Welsh  kings,  situated  between  Ijlanfairfechan  and  Bangor, 
and  at  the  feet  of  the  great  Carnarvonshire  mountains,  that  he 
was  ordained  a  few  months  after  leaving  Bristol.  In  point  of 
scenic  beauty  and  variety  the  spot  was  unusually  attractive,  but 
as  the  minister  sat  down  to  his  frugal,  scanty,  and  often  coarse 
meal,  he  nmst,  unless  an  ascetic  in  principle,  which  most 
assuredly  Brutus  was  not,  have  often  thought  of  the  steaming 
hot  joints  of  which  his  quondam  fellow-students  were  still 
partaking,  and  especially  of  the  varied  treasures  of  the  fine 
library  belonging  to  the  college,  which  he  had  had  no 
occasion  to  leave.  But  he  had  made  his  bed,  and  he  must  lie  on 
it.  Here  he  continued  for  some  short  time,  but,  finding  it 
impossible  not  only  to  live,  in  an  Englishman's  sense  of  the 
word,  which  was  entirely  out  of  the  question,  but  even  to 
vegetate,  he  decided  that  a  move  must  be  made  in  some 
direction.  He  removed  to  Lleyn,  the  extremity  of  Carnarvon- 
shire, to  take  charge  of  four  small  societies  meeting  at 
Tal-y-graig,  Galltraeth,  Tyndonen,  and  Khos  Hirwaun,  which 
are  situated  in  the  most  fertile  portion  of  the  country,  and  where 
is  no  lack  of  bread  to  such  as  choose  to  work,  except  to  a 
Baptist  minister.  This  rich  lowland  by  the  sea  was  a  part  of 
the  missionary  field  cultivated  by  that  grand  apostle^  Chrv&t\s:^a&& 


392  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

Evans,  the  improvement  of  which  required  his  successor  to  be 
endowed  with  the  same  ministerial  gifts.  David  Owen  was, 
without  exception,  the  ftast  fitted  to  occupy  so  laborious  a 
sphere.  Evans  was  a  man  of  aiK»stolical  zeal  and  fervour, 
capable  of  any  amount  of  self-denial  in  his  Master's  service, 
with  a  passion  for  preaching  which  absorbed  the  whole  of  his 
massive  frame  and  fertile  brain,  and  quite  content  to  depend  for 
his  homely  fare  on  the  promissory  notes  of  Providence,  many 
of  which  he  knew  would  not  be  cashed  before  the  resurrection 
ofthejuftt.  Owen  had  not  resided  long  in  the  neighbourhood 
when  he  was  married  to  Miss  Anne  Jones,  daughter  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Jones,  of  Rhandir,  who  was  a  respectable  farmer,  and 
deacon  of  an  Independent  Church  in  the  neighbourhood.  This 
brave  or  thoughtless  young  woman  volunteered  to  share  her 
husband's  poverty — a  partnership  pretty  sure  to  extend  the 
business  of  promoting  cleanliness  of  teeth,  which  is  a  "  heavy 
blow  and  discouragement "  to  sellers  of  tooth-brushes.  The 
young  couple  commenced  their  wedded  life  in  a  humble  cottage 
in  the  poor  little  village  of  Llangian,  furnished  with  only  the 
necessary  articles  for  domestic  uses.  Their  sole  additional 
proi^)erty  consisted  of  their  own  selves,  of  which  they  were  joint 
and  equal  owners.  They  did  fairly  well  at  first,  profiting 
materially  by  the  young  wife's  "  basket  fortune,"  which  found 
its  way  pretty  regularly  from  Rhandir  to  their  thatched  domicile 
— a  jugful  of  new  milk,  a  i)ot  of  butter,  a  whole  cheese,  a  bag  of 
potatoes,  an  occasional  rooster,  accompanied  by  a  piece  of  fat 
bacon,  were  very  welcome  additions  to  the  village  pastor's  larder. 
For  some  time  there  were  only  two  mouths,  but  this  duality  did 
not  last  long.  In  due  season  api)eared  new  editions  of  the 
original  works,  and  the  copies  remaining  long  on  hand,  the 
family  exchequer  began  to  show  increasing  signs  of  exhaustion. 
New  mouths,  new  backs,  and  new  feet  are  welcome  additions  at 
the  establishments  of  the  rich,  but  they  prove  veritable 
incumbrances  where  the  means  of  the  parents  are  too  precarious 
and  limited  to  admit  of  increase.  David  Owen,  to  eke  out  the 
miserable  pittance  which  he  received  for  his  pastoral  labours, 
had  to  start  a  day  school,  which  he  did  in  a  little  Wesleyan 
chapel  in  the  village,  walled  of  mud  and  thatched  with  straw. 
In  the  year  1866  this  chapel  had  gone  down  in  the  ecclesiastical 
world,  for  it  had  been  degraded  into  a  cow  house  !  Sic  (and  a 
very  sad  "  sic  "  too)  transit  gloria  of  this  rude  sanctuary  of  the 
Wesleyans. 

Teaching,  or  trying  to  teach  the  natives  on  week  days,  and 
walking  some  twenty  miles  on  the  Sunday,  with  three  services 
to  conduct,  was  hard  work  enough  in  all  conscience,  even  if  the 
pay  had  been  hberal,  but  trebly  trying  when  the  weekly  sum 
total  of  receipts  from  all  sources — inclusive  of  small  acknow- 
led^^iQMli^lDr    quack    doctoring — did  not  amount  to  a  day 


"  BRUTUS."  393 

labourer's  wages  in  these  more  prosperous  times.  It  is  a  well- 
known  fact  that  even  within  the  last  few  years  the  wages  of 
farm  ser\'ants  in  Carnarvonshire  (£30  a  year  with  board) 
exceeded  the  salary  received  by  several  Independent  and 
Baptist  ministers  in  the  rural  districts  of  that  county.  He 
that  is  bread-independent  is  a  gratuitous  sinner  if  he  yields  to 
such  temptations  as  are  likely  to  assail  him.  Happy  is  the  man 
who,  standing  in  front  of  a  well  filled  cupboard,  is  prepared  to 
swear,  by  every  crumb  in  every  loaf  within  it,  that  he  will  never 
crucify  his  self-respect  by  any  dishonourable  act ;  but  blessed  is 
that  man,  who,  standing  in  front  of  an  empty  cupboard,  dares 
believe  in  God,  and  knows  how  to  die,  but  not  how  to  do  a 
mean,  unmanly  deed.  Whosoever  is  content  to  eat  bread 
dishonourably  got  is,  while  thriving  prosperously  as  an  animaly 
twice  dead  as  a  man.  Ah  !  little  know  such  of  the  readers  of 
the  Red  Dragon  as  are  comparatively  rich  of  the  sorry,  heart- 
aching  shifts  to  which  many  worthy  poor  people  are  put  in  trying  to 
make  both  ends  meet.  Poverty,  except  as  the  result  of  violating 
moral,  social,  or  economic  laws,  is  no  disgrace,  but  it  is,  to  say 
the  best,  very  inconvenient  and  perplexing,  and  a  great  temptation 
to  tamper  with  the  Deca,logue.  Hunger  is  deaf  to  reason, 
laughs  at  logic,  and  nothing  but  food  can  silence  the  clamours 
of  an  empty  stomach. 

David  Owen  was  not,  any  more  than  many  others  ready 
enough  to  condemn  him,  made  of  the  stuff  which  goes  to  create 
martyrs ;  and  circumstances, "  the  triers  of  men's  spirits,"  would 
leave  in  their  case,  if  tested,  as  in  his,  results  equally 
unsatisfactory.  There  are  certain  critical  life-determining  steps 
which  a  man  may  take,  or  not  take,  for  which  he  is  responsible ; 
but  the  subsequent  steps  are  beyond  his  control.  A  large  stone, 
deeply  imbedded  in  the  ground  on  a  steep  side-land,  is  dug  out 
of  the  hole  which  its  own  weight  has  made,  and  set  in  motion  ; 
when,  escaping  from  the  excavator's  hand,  it  begins  to  leap,  and, 
gaining  impetus  from  every  bound,  dashes  onward  with  resistlesR 
and  increasing  force,  until,  exhausted,  it  makes  for  itself  a 
second  bed.  The  whole  responsibility  is  confined  to  the  action 
that  moved  it  out  of  its  first  resting-place  where  it  was  as 
harmless  as  an  infant,  but  all  its  subsequent  bounds  and  leaps, 
with  all  their  consequences,  are  placed  beyond  the  arresting 
power  or  prayer  of  man.  An  innocent,  simple-looking  act  is 
often  pregnant  with  unimagined  possibilities  which  in  a  moment 
may  be  brought  forth  in  terrific  fact-forms.  There  were  two 
false  steps  taken  by  Owen,  for  which  he  was  made  speedily  to 
smart — the  first  was  his  leaving  college  after  only  one  year's 
stay,  the  other,  the  marrying  a  wife  when  he  was  scarcely  able 
to  maintain  himself. 

Signs  of  poverty  were  now  beginning  to  show  themselves. 
These  remarks  are  not  made  with  a  view  of  mitigating,  much 


.304  N()TAI5LE  .MEX  OF  WALES. 

moro  of  jusfifviiig,  hut  for  \ho  purpose  of  e3rj»Iaiimi2'  tb? 
4!in'urustaiio<*s  under  whicli  Owen  wa.s  tempted  to  cozxiinit  the 
irnruf»nility  of  tryin;;^  to  obtain  money  under  what  mast  he 
(tailed  fal><r  pirtencrs.  Describing  liis  eon^eg;Uion>  a>  Lairiiig 
julopted  I'nitarian  views,  or  at  any  rate  as  being"  favoarably 
diHjK)H«:d  towards  tlieni,  be  wrote  tn  tbe  Kev.  Dr.  C'arpentt^r,  a 
highly  respectable  and  l<?amed  Unitarian  niinisttfr  in  BristoL 
prayint;  biru  to  n^c  Ids  infbience  to  obtain  for  him  a  ^rant  from 
the  J'resbyterian  I5oard  in  I^ondon.  Tbe  go^.xl  Ikni-tor,  surprised 
and  delighted  to  find  that  Ids  theological  sentiments  had  found 
their  way  into  North  Wales,  where  there  was  not  then,  any 
more  than  now,  a  single  congreg:ition  belonging  to  the 
Unitarians,  wrote  to  the  Kev.  John  James,  of  (iellioneu,  near 
Swansea,  asking  if  the  news  was  true.  He  also  callt^I  on  the 
I^ev.  Joseph  Harris,  the  leading  lia])tist  minister  in  S?uth 
Wales,  to  mak(i  in<juiry  abiMit  the  rej)ort,  and  he  wrote  to  a 
brother  minister  at  Hut  hyn, drsiring  Idrn  to  tind  out  if  the  facts 
were  what  tliry  had  been  repres(»nted  by  Owen.  The  result 
of  tlie  investigation  was  to  prove  that  the  whole  account  was 
absolut<.'ly  luitrue.  Some  little  time  after  the  Baptists  held  their 
annual  association  at  Pwllheli,  when  at  the  ministerial  eon- 
ferenc4*,  om^  of  the  fraternitv,  very  lik(;lv  he  of  Kuthvn,  state<l 
that  one  of  the  ministers  prrsent  had  denied  the  faith,  and, 
but  without  naming  tin^  person,  gave  the  fid  1  history  of  the 
case.  Only  a  few  who  were*  in  the  secret  knew  that  anyone 
had  proved  recreant,  an<l  loud  cries  of  "Name  him"  were  heard, 
when  Owen,  anticipating  the  announcem<-nt  of  his  name,  stcxxl 
up  and  admitted  that  he  was  "that  dog,"  w]iereU[)on  there  and 
then  th^^  Haptist  Association  severed  its  connection  with  the 
poor  pluralist  succe>M>r  of  Cluistmas  Evans. 

It  is  not  likely  that  he  would,  after  this  exposui^e,  remain  long 
in  the  town,  which  he  was  <>nly  too  glad  to  leave.  From  that 
meeting  he  walked  home  -now  smitten  with  desolation — with  a 
heavy  hiiart  and  lagging,  labouring  footstejjs.  His  horizon, 
poor  fellow,  had  always  been  a  confined  one.  It  was  only 
througii  narrow  rifts  in  the  clouds  that  a  few  stray  sun-rays  had 
reached  his  rugged  ])ath,  and  now  those  rifts  had  been  closed 
by  clouds  thicker  and  darker  than  ever,  making  the  outlook 
sombre  and  d«»])rossing.  l)o  something  he  nuist,  and  s[)eodily 
— but  irhat  is  the  question.  "  He  cannot  dig,  and  to  beg  he  is 
ashamed;*'  to  starve  is  not  an  agreeable  holiday  to  unimpaired 
grinders  and  eupeptic  stomachs,  of  which  there  is  now  a  number 
in  excellent  working  order.  He  is  not  an  orator — only  a 
pleasant,  sensible  speaker,  ot  herwist^  he  might,  by  the  charms  of 
elofpience  of  which  his  countrymen  were  then,  as  now,  so  very 
fond,  have  easily  oi)tained,  as  many  other  sinners  are  known  to 
have  done,  forgiveness  for  his  breach  of  momls.  But  he  can 
irrite,  and  that  will  save  Vuirv  ttom  VVivi  ^o\V\\o\x%vi  ^V  «mv^  irate. 


« JiKUTUS."  395. 

When  he  sulked  and  hid  himself  among  the  Carnarvonshire 
mountains,  he  fully  proposed  to  make  himself  known  and  felt 
some  day  in  Wales  at  least,  for  over  Offa's  Dyke  he  never  allowed 
his  eye  to  wander.  He  had  written  much ;  not,  however,  for  the 
press,  but  for  the  purpose  of  acquiring  facility  and  felicity  of 
expression,  and  of  forming  a  style  of  his  own.  All  he  wrote  he 
punished  with  fire— a  primitive  treatment  not  so  common  as  is 
desirable.  He  was  about  thirty  years  of  age  when  he  made  his 
first  appearance  in  print.  Knowing  "  there  is  a  tide  in  the 
affairs  of  men  which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune,"  he 
prepared  a  carefully  written  article  on  the  "  Poverty  (literary) 
of  the  Welsh  Language,"  and  forwarded  it  for  insertion  in  Seren 
GomeVy  then  in  its  glory  as  the  only  ably-conducted  and 
extensively  circulated  monthly  in  Wales,  and  affixed  to  it  the 
name  "Brutus."  If  he  had  flung  a  match  into  a  cask  of  powder 
there  could  not  have  been  a  greater  explosion  and  consternation 
created  than  by  the  perusal  of  this  article,  to  this  day  unanswer- 
able. Thus  at  one  bound,  long  meditated,  he  found  himself  in 
the  (to  him)  i)roud  i)osition  of  being  the  first  Welsh  writer  that 
had  ever  ai)peared  in  the  Principality. 

Thrust  out  of  the  communion  of  the  Baptists,  and  finding  "  a 
lodge  on  the  cold  ground  "  of  the  common  far  from  being  wind 
and  water  proof,  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  a  Congregational 
church  of  which  his  father-in-law  was  a  deacon,  and  succeeded 
in  obtaining  admission  as  a  member,  where,  as  a  gifted,  if 
slightly  marred,  man  he  was  not  unwelcome,  and  where  he  found 
shelter,  if  not  food  and  raiment.  To  justify  his  secession  from 
the  Immersionists  and  his  endeavours  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  the  new  sect,  and  very  likely,  also,  with  a  view  of  putting 
a  trifle,  if  possible,  into  a  pocket  emptier  than  ever,  he  published 
a  pamf)lilet  on  infant  baptism,  which  was  immediately  followed 
by  a  reply  from  the  opposite  side.  Between  the  two  opponents 
the  water  fight  waxed  fast  and  furious,  to  the  great  delight  of 
such  as  love  to  see  the  sights  and  hear  the  sound  of  a  theo- 
logical battle.  Some  years  ago  there  was  held  on  Rhymney 
mountain  a  public  discussion  on  baptism  which,  with  wicked 
felicity,  was  designated  by  Brutus  the  "  Baptism  Fair,"  and  where 
the  judges  of  the  fray  were  colliers  and  puddlers,  with  a  few 
Dissenting  parsons  to  egg  them  on.  It  was  a  scandalous 
imitation  of  the  pugilistic  encounter  of  Tom  Sayers  and 
Heenan.  Taking  a  common-sense  view  of  two  out  of  the  three 
theories  of  baptism  that  have  been  entertained,  and  regarding 
it  as  a  symbol,  there  did  not  appear  any  great  difference  to  him 
between  the  use  of  much  or  the  use  of  little  water,  so  in  that 
light  li is  departure  from  his  former  creed  would  not  seem  so  wide 
as  to  a  strict  Baptist.  Shaking  from  off*  his  feet  the  dust  of  Lleyn^ 
and  having  no  occasion  to  hire  a  furniture  vaxi  \x>  x^TCi»N<b  \v\^ 
effects,  which  were  not  much  in  excess  o?  ^Yi^vV  e^Oa.  xcievs^o^T 


596  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

of  the  household  could  and  did  easily  carry  on  his  back,  he 
flitted  into  the  neigh]>ourhood  of  Llanerchymedd,  Anglesey,  and 
there  opened  a  school  in  a  small  country  synagogue,  yclept 
Hermon.  On  Sundays  he  preached  to  neighbouring  congrega- 
tions. The  exchange  of  one  sect  for  another  did  not  bring  more 
grist  to  the  mill,  and  for  any  contribution  towards  periodical 
literature  bearing  the  well-known  signature  '^  Brutus,"  there  was 
not  only  no  honorarium,  but  there  was  actually  the  drawback 
and  loss  of  having  the  postage  to  pay,  whicb,  though 
inconsiderable  in  itself,  could  be  ill  spared  in  his  impecunious 
homestead.  It  was  clear  that  there  was  to  be  "  no  abiding  city  " 
for  him  here,  and  shortly  after  he  and  his  scanty  belonging^ 
might  have  been  found  pitched  in  a  tent  at  Bontnewydd,  a 
small  village  within  a  mile  of  Carnarvon.  It  is  not  known  now 
what  he  did  here  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door.  He  was  by 
this  time  as  famous  as  any  man  in  Wales,  but  fame  anywhere 
is  only  wind  unless  it  can  be  translated  into  the  necessaries  of 
life  at  least,  to  say  nothing  of  its  comforts.  A  poor  widow  who 
keeps  a  Noah's  Ark  of  sundries  in  a  country  village  is  in  an 
enviable  position  as  compared  with  a  poor  literary  man.  He 
may  be  a  genius,  but  if  he  cannot  earn  bread  for  himself  and 
family  he  will,  as  it  is  only  natural  he  should,  become  an  object 
of  contempt,  for  society  is  rigid  in  its  demands  that  every  one 
of  its  members  should  be  a  bread-winner.  It  is  true  of  man 
that  if  he  cannot  "live  on  bread  alone,"  he  cannot 
conveniently  live  without  it ;  but  if  any  spiritual  dreamer  has 
faith  enough  to  make  the  experiment  he  is  heartily  welcome, 
provided  always  his  dependents  are  excused  from  joining  him 
in  the  hazardous  venture. 

It  was  w  hile  residing  here  that  he  saw  the  first  gleam  of  hope 
of  being  engaged  in  literary  pursuits,  for  which  he  had  for  years 
cherished  a  marked  preference.  In  the  year  1826  there  was 
started  at  Swansea,  by  a  Mr.  J.  A.  Williams,  nephew  of  Mrs. 
Esther  Williams,  a  well-known  printer  at  Aberystwyth  in  years 
gone  by,  a  small  monthly  publication,  price  2d.,  called  ¥r  Oes 
<^The  Age),  somewhat  wanting  in  definiteness.  And,  partly 
perhaps  on  this  account  and  quite  as  much  in  consequence 
of  its  being  a  weak,  sickly  infant,  it  was  thought  advisable  to 
take  in  a  titular  partner,  which  w^as  accordingly  done  in  the 
I)erson  of  the  Moon,  and  henceforth  the  firm  will  be  known 
under  the  name  and  title  of  Lleuad  yr  Oes  (The  Moon  of  the 
Age),  and  its  price  was  raised  to  sixj^ence.  It  was  felt  that  the 
*'  age "  stood  in  need  of  more  light  than  that  which  it  had 
been  hitherto  obliged  to  steer  its  course  by,  namely,  the  Serefii 
Ooiner  (Star  of  Gomer),  and  as  borrowed  light  of  various  kinds 
is  in  common  use,  it  was  considered  a  good  stroke  of  business  to 
press  into  the  service  of  the  Age  the  aid  of  its  prototype  in  the 
heavens.     It  was  also  expected  that  an  addition  of  4d.  was  only 


« BRUTUS."  397 

a  reasonable  charge  for  the  light  of  the  ''parish  lantern."  In 
the  December  number  of  the  first  year  of  this  publication 
appeared  a  masterly  essay,  or  rather  oration,  by  Brutus,  on 
"Death,  Judgment,  and  Eternity,"  which  created  deep  and 
general  interest  among  its  readers.  Shortly  after  the  Moon 
was  removed  from  Swansea  to  Aberystwyth,  becoming  the 
property  of  Mr.  Samuel  Thomas,  another  nephew  of  Mrs.  Esther 
Williams,  and  in  January,  1828,  Brutus  removed  from 
Bontnewydd  to  the  Welsh  Brighton  to  undertake  the  editorship. 
His  country  seat  was  at  Llanbadamfawr,  within  two  miles  of 
the  town.  During  the  years  1828  and  1829  he  was  its  editor, 
but  towards  the  close  of  the  second  year  the  Moon  became  too 
feeble  to  rise,  from  the  effects  of  a  severe  cold  caught  through 
exposure  on  frosty  nights  to  the  biting  north  winds  which  sweep 
over  Cardigan  Bay.  It  was  suggested  by  her  medical  adviser 
that  she  should  be  removed  to  a  more  congenial  climate,  and 
a  Llandovery  printer,  named  Jeffrey  Jones,  undertook  tohangher 
over  the  sheltered  valley  of  the  Towy,  where  sea  storms  would 
not  obscure  her  pale  fair  face.  Poor  Jeffrey  was  taken  in  and 
done  for.  In  buying  the  copyright  (he  might  as  well  have  bought 
the  copyright  of  the  last  dying  speech  and  confession  of  some 
poor  wretch  condemned  to  be  hanged)  of  the  waning  AToon,  he 
hoped  when  it  got  again  to  the  full  he  would  see  his  way  to 
make  money  out  of  it — an  object  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart. 
Some  time  after  the  removal  to  Llandovery  Samuel  ThomasV 
effects  were  sold  by  auction,  while  he,  at  the  expense  of  the 
county,  was  sent  to  Cardigan  Gaol,  where  he  had  ample  time 
to  philosophise  on  lunar  and  sublunar  changes.  But  if  the  light 
of  the  Moon  became  feeble  and  dim  at  Aberystwyth,  it  went 
clean  out  at  Llandovery  under  the  management  of  Jeffrey,  who, 
in  his  endeavoiu-s  to  save  it  from  extinction,  attempted,  it  i* 
said,  to  solve  the  problem,  how  on  a  minimum  of  sustenance  to 
keep  soul  and  body  together.  He  and  his  Moon^  however, 
underwent  a  total  eclipse,  and  in  the  darkness  which  followed^ 
Brutus  and  his  tribe,  who  had  accompanied  it  to  the  South, 
found  it  hard  work  to  grope  their  way  in  search  of  the  loaf. 
And  this  was  not  all,  for,  in  consequence  of  something  like  a 
deed  of  partnership  between  him  and  Sam  Thomas  as  joint 
dealers  in  Jl/oan-shine,  a  demand  was  made  upon  the  late  editor 
of  the  defunct  journal  for  what  had  rarely  had  a  night's  lodging 
in  his  pocket,  namely  money,  which  in  the  form  of  sovereigns  he 
was  wont,  and  not  without  reason,  to  style  "  yellow  strangers." 
Having  nothing  to  pay  he  was  clapped  in  Carmarthen  Gaol, 
where,  through  the  kindness  of  friends,  he  fared  sumptuously 
every  day,  having  never  lived  so  well  since  he  had  left  Bristol 
College.  After  his  liberation  from  durance  vile,  which  was  effected 
through  the  good  oflSces  of  some  admirers,  he  used  to  amuse  hi» 
friends  greatly  with  an  account  of  his  prison  life,  and  especially 


398  NOTABLE  .AlEN  OF  WALES. 

of  a  visit  paid  him  by  his  father,  who  until  then  had  never  been 
inside  a  gaol,  the  old  man  stating  that  the  outside  quite  satisfied 
him.  After  crossing  the  threshold  of  the  prison,  and  hearing 
the  door  locked  and  bolted,  he  began  to  feel  very  queer  all  over. 
When  he  was  ushered  into  his  son's  room  he  burst  into  tears  at 
sight  of  him,  exclaiming  in  doleful  tones,  interrupted  by  deep 
sobs,  '*  0  Deio  bach !  1  never  thought  1  should  see  you  in 
prison."  He  was  asked  to  take  a  seat,  while  orders  were  given 
to  bring  him  solid  refreshment,  of  which,  as  well  as 
of  his  share  of  sundry  jugs  of  wholesome  home-brewed  ale 
from  a  neighbouring  hostelry,  he  was  nothing  loth  to  partake, 
for  joy  and  sorrow  are  equally  exhaustive  of  nervous  energy  as 
the  hardest  bodily  exertion.  He  showed  such  signs  of  returning 
good  spirits,  if  not  of  incij)ient  elevation,  that  in  taking  leave  of 
his  son  at  the  prison  door  he  was  candid  enough  to  iidmit  that 
jifter  all  a  gaol  was  not  nearly  so  bad  a  place  as  had  been 
represented.  Aye,  aye,  the  old  saying  is  a  true  one  as  to 
"  filling  the  heart  with  food  and  gladness." 

Once  more,  but  finally  through  mercy,  the  old  perplexing 
question — "what  to  do" — turns  up,  for  the  stomach-clocks 
of  the  household  keep  time  to  a  second,  and  good  digestion 
finds  a  quickening  auxiliary  in  the  bracing  air  which  sweeps 
over  the  surrounding  heights.  Kelief  of  some  sort  is  obtained 
from  an  announcement  that  the  Independents  are  going  to 
start  a  denominational  organ,  to  be  called  the  Evanf/eliaty  and 
that  he  was  appointed  to  the  ])ost  of  editor  with  a  salary  which 
was  not  an  evangel  of  ample  food  and  raiment  for  himself 
and  family.  He  was  forced  Jigain  to  keep  a  day  school,  to 
whose  drudgery  his  "  poverty,  and  not  his  will,"  compelled  him 
to  submit.  It  must  be  confessed  that  he  was  only  a  very 
ordinary  schoolmaster,  for  instead  of  attending  to  the  children 
he  was  too  often  lost  in  reveries  and  reflections  on  an  article  soon 
wanted  for  the  month Iv  of  which  he  had  taken  charge,  and  out 
of  these  tasks  nothing  short  of  the  Babel  hubbub  of  unruly  boys 
and  girls  could  rouse  him.  Then  standing  up  to  his  full  height, 
and  putting  on  a  solemn  judicial  air,  he  would  summon  before 
him  the  real  or  supposed  ringleader  of  the  turmoil,  when  he 
would  address  him  in  the  following  designedly  grandiose  style : 
— "  I  give  thee  timely  warning  that  if  ever  again  I  discover  any 
symptoms  of  an  incipient  tendency  towards  rebellion  against 
constituted  authority,  it  will  become  my  imi^rative  duty  to 
apply  a  certain  disciplinary  instrument  to  thy  ablative,  which 
will  not  fail  to  quicken  the  circulation  of  the  ruddy  fluid  in  that 
division  of  thy  humanity."  The  poor  culprit^  trembling  from 
head  to  foot,  and  no  Daniel  at  hand  to  interpret  these  awful 
words,  of  whose  meaning  he  had  no  more  idea  than  of  Arabic,  was 
left  to  divine  whether  they  could  by  any  possibility  mean  what  the 
I^ncashire  youngsters  understand  when  their  mothers  threaten 


"  BRUTUS."  399 

to  warm  them.  Brutus  well  knew  that  the  unknown  is  an 
awful  instrument  of  terror,  and  that  its  true  sense  should  not 
be  disclosed  by  translation.  It  was  only  when  O'Connell  called 
the  old  Dublin  applewoman,  whom  he  had  challenged  to  play 
a  game  at  scurrility,  an  isosceles  triangle  that  she  was  struck 
dumb  and  confounded.  The  editor  of  the  Evangelist  had  no 
occasion  to  use  a  cane  or  birch  rod  so  long  as  the  seal  of  the 
untranslated  remained  unbroken.  According  to  his  own  account, 
he  had,  as  the  result  of  various  experiments,  discovered  a  very 
■economical  method  of  correcting  his  own  children,  who  in 
running  in  and  out  of  his  living-room  and  study,  did  not  render 
him  much  help  while  engaged  in  writing  an  article.  He  said 
he  could  not  have  found  time  to  correct  each  one's  offence  at 
the  moment  of  its  commission,  and  that  his  plan  was  to  set 
opposite  each  offender's  name  a  sufficient  number  of  transgres- 
sions to  "fill  up  the  measure  of  their  iniquity."  He  then 
devoted  an  hour  or  two  to  pursuing  the  nimble  fugitives,  who, 
to  avoid  being  overtaken,  concealed  themselves  amidst  the  tall 
gorse  and  entangled  brushwood  of  a  neighbouring  hill,  where 
he  would  leave  them,  he  himself  returning  home  to  furnish  an 
article  wanted  for  the  press  undisturbed  by  the  mischievous 
rogues.  Towards  nightfall  they  would  come  peeping  through 
the  window  to  ascertain  if  the  storm  had  subsided,  and  finding 
there  was  a  great  calm,  they  instantly  availed  themselves  of  it 
to  sneak  into  bed,  without  their  supper,  it  is  true,  but  then  with- 
out punishment. 

The  Evangelist,  under  Brutus,  became  at  once  the  most 
popular  periodical  in  Wales.  The  editor's  beautiful  rhyth- 
mical style  created  among  old  and  young  a  love  of  reading, 
and  in  many  of  the  latter  a  taste  for  literary  com^wsi- 
tion  which  has  since  borne  ample  fruit.  Political  subjects, 
which  were  only  briefly  and  drily  treated  in  other  monthlies, 
received  able  treatment  from  his  pen,  while  his  humour  and 
terseness  enabled  him  to  create  all  but  living  figures  out  of 
abstractions  dry  as  the  bones  in  Ezekiel's  vision.  His  mode  of 
writing  on  all  subjects  was  eminently  fitted  to  arrest  the  atten- 
tion of  his  volatile  countrymen,  sorely  in  need  of  an  enlarged 
sphere  of  observation  and  of  a  widened  horizon.  Hungry 
men,  keenly  on  the  look  out  for  a  meal,  never  desired  it  more 
eagerly  than  did  the  readers  of  this  periodical  its  monthly 
appearance.  Brutus  was  the  first  Welsh  writer  who  made  polities 
popular.  Several  others  have  since  followed  in  his  wake,  and 
notably  one  (Hiraethog)  who  has  proved  his  superior,  even  in  the 
qualities  which  had  made  him  excel  all  others.  No  clever 
worker  in  any  field  of  mental  labour  but  has  produced  his 
equal  and  occasionally  his  superior.  The  enthusiastic  admirar- 
tion  which  any  kind  of  superiority  producer  Y\aa  «b  VjeiAfeTic^  V^ 


400  NOTABLE  MEX  OF  WALES. 

create  a  desire  in  the  owner  of  daring,  self-confident  power  tc 
raise  the  standard  still  higher. 

Brutus  was  very  fortunate  in  having  for  his  printer  and  pub- 
lisher the  late  William  Rees,  Esq.,  J.P.,  of  Tonn,  then  engaged 
in  a  large  way  of  business,  every  bninch  of  which,  from  having 
served  a  regular  apprenticeship  to  it  at  a  first-class  house  in 
Hereford,  he  thoroughly  understood.  Its  publisher  being  pos- 
sessed of  ample  means,  correct  judgment,  and  taste,  the  get-up 
of  the  Evavgelist  was  everything  that  could  be  desired.  If  the 
Independents  had  been  half  so  liberal  in  extending  help  to  the 
editor's  pocket  infirmities  as  some  of  their  self-sufficient  leaders 
had  been  in  pestering  him  with  hints  and  suggestions  how  to 
improve  his  style  of  doing  what  he  knew  how  to  do  infinitely 
better  than  they  could  have  told  him,  his  eminent  services 
might  have  been  secured  during  his  life-time  to  that  body  oi 
religionists.  But  continued  inadequate  i)ay  for  ample  brain- 
work,  coupled  with  unauthorised  petty  interference  with  his 
editoricil  management,  became  at  length  as  intolerable  as  a 
reviewer  of  "  Satan,"  Montgomery's  poetry  in  Blackwoodj 
declared  to  be  "the  everlasting  biting  of  a  flea."  Shortly 
before  the  last  number  of  the  Evangelist  had  made  its  appear- 
ance, a  friend  walked  with  the  editor  from  Llandovery  to  his 
house.  Brutus,  who  ai>peared  unusually  taciturn,  said  not  a  word 
until  they  came  to  the  second  mile  stone,  when,  without  a 
syllable  of  ])reface,  he  asked  his  companion  what  he  understood 
by  "  conscientiousness."  Having  received  a  definition  not  cal- 
culated to  heal  the  disease  of  his  mind  at  the  time,  he  blurted 
out  the  confession  that  he  had  done  with  the  Evaiigelistj  and 
that  next  month  there  would  ai)pear  the  first  number  of  a 
Church  organ,  bearing  the  name  of  Yr  Haul  (The  Sun), 
before  whose  face  as  "  the  eye  of  light "  he  vowed  to  expose 
all  the  evils  of  Dissent.  And  it  is  needless  to  add  that  he  kept 
his  word  to  the  letter.  His  mind  seemed  on  this  occasion  to 
be  the  seat  of  contending  emoticms — ^joy  at  the  prosi)ect  of 
escaping  from  what  he  felt  was  slavery  into  freedom  of  speech 
and  action,  and  sorrow  at  having  to  sever  his  connection  with 
many  members  of  the  Independent  body  who  had  made  repeated 
but  unavailing  efforts  to  render  his  editorial  position  more  satisfac- 
tory. When  asked  by  one  of  his  most  ardent  friends  in  Monmouth- 
shire, a  few  months  after  he  had  undertaken  the  editorship  of 
the  llavl,  why  he  had  given  up  Dissent,  his  reply  was, 
"  That  wlien  he  had  had  the  offer  of  certain  bread  and 
cheese,  he  could  not,  looking  at  his  wife  Jind  children,* 
decline  it.''  The  explanation  was  as  candid  as  it  was  honest* 
But  that  ofifer,  whose  certainty  had  recommended  it,  was  na 
more  certain  than  Mr.  Rees,  the  publisher's  life,  and  consisted 
of  only  £1  VL  week,  the  highest  weekly  wage  that  any  Welsh 

*  Ten  at  one  time. 


"  BRUTUS/'  401 

writer  had  hitherto  received,  and  never  known  to  be  doubled 
once  except  in  the  case  of  the  late  Mr.  John  Grriffith,  better 
known  as  "  Gohebydd  y  Fanei\'*  For  nearly  thirty  years  he 
conducted  the  Haul  with  unquestionable  ability,  especially  that 
part  of  it  devoted  to  a  report  of  the  discussions  carried  on  in 
the  "  Eppynt  Shepherds'  Parliament,"  to  which  most  readers 
turned  first,  for  there  they  were  sure  to  find  the  rich  outcomt^ 
of  wit,  humour,  irony,  ridicule,  and  fun,  rioting  in  burlesque 
and  caricature,  of  which  he  was  so  consummate  a  master.  As 
Editor  of  the  Hauly  it  is  readily  admitted  by  unprejudiced 
Churchmen  that  he  did  greater  service  to  Dissent  than  to  the 
Established  Church.  The  voluntary  system  requires  Christian 
gentlemen  to  work  it ;  and,  as  they  are  "  few  and  far  between,'^ 
its  operations  have  too  often  to  be  entrusted  to  well-meaning, 
but  small,  or  self-seeking,  ignorant,  designing  men,  in  whose 
hands  it  frequently  degenerates  into  an  instrument  of  petty 
tyranny  and  oppression,  chargeable  with  irregularities  and 
follies  loudly  calling  for  correction,  and  more  likely  to  be 
effectually  corrected  by  the  Hard  than  by  any  Dissenting  organ. 
He  who  purifies  a  system  from  its  abuses  proves,  unintentionally 
or  otherwise,  its  greatest  friend  by  reducing  the  ground  under 
the  assailant's  feet.  Justice  requires  that  Dissenting  ministers 
themselves  should  be  held  responsible  for  many  of  the  evils 
incidental  to  the  form  of  Church  government  which  they 
advocate. 

Some   little  time  after  undertaking  the  editorship   of  the 
Hauly  Brutus  removed  to  a  cottage  situated  by  the  turnpike 
road  leading  from  Llandovery  to  Trecastle,  through  the  winding, 
wooded,  romantic  glen  of  Cwmdwr.     Attached  to  this  rustic 
dwelling  was  a  piece  of  land  which  he  converted  into  a  pro- 
ductive garden,  in  which,  besides  a  variety  of  vegetables  and 
pot-herbs,  a  goodly  number  of  apple-trees  of  his  own  planting 
flourished  and  bore  fruit.     Howell  Eees,  a  man  of  iron  nerve, 
the   well-Known  driver  of  the  Gloucester  mail,  made   it   his 
pleasinre   to  point  out    to  the  passengers  both   cottage   and 
occupier,  if  the  latter  was  anywhere  in  sight.     It  was  during 
Erutus's  residence  here  that,  one  very  dark  and  stormy  night,  the 
mail  met  with  an  accident  which  might  have  proved  fatal  to 
man  and  beast.     The  oflf  leader,  shying  at  the  first  of  a  string 
of  butter-merchants'  carts,  swerved  from  the  road,  cut  out  of  a 
steep  sideland,  and  dragged    after    it  the   near  leader,    and 
ultimately  the  wheelers  and  the  mail.     Old  Compton,  the  guard, 
who  had  been  on  the  road  fifty  years,  jumped  oflf  his  seat  as 
soon  as  he  perceived  the  danger;  and,  as  if  to  show  that  the 
comic  is  a  near  neighbour  of  the  tragic,  he  must  needs  bring  out 
his  wee  bit  of  bad  Welsh,  in  taking  leave  of  the  coach  as  it  was 
going  over  the  embankment  down  into  the  gwydderig  by 
wishing  a  "  boi^e  da  i  ciJ^^    The  passengers  escaped  with  their 

A  A 


402  NOTABLE  MES  OF  WALES. 

lives,  as  also  two,  if  not  three,  of  the  horses.  Some  time  after 
the  accident  a  monument  was  erected  near  the  spot,  and  only  a 
h?hort  distance  from  the  editor's  cottage.  He  was  asked  to 
lirepare  a  thanksgiving  inscription  to  be  placed  on  it,  and  the 
following  is  a  copy  furnished  by  himself: — 

"  Beware,  ye  ctiachnien,  passengerR  and  all. 
For  here  the  Mail  had  a  tremendous  fall  ! 
O'er  hedge  it  rolled,  tumbling  all  together, 
And  rested  not  imtil  it  reached  the  river. 
The  devil  gaped,  with  gaping  mouth  asunder, 
But  Heaven  declared  he  should  have  no  plunder, 
Then  wait,  old  Nick,  have  patience,  if  you  can, 
And  you  shall  surely  gulp  them  one  by  one." 

There  was  not  much  likelihood  that  it  would  fall  to  the  lot  of 
any  stone-cutter  to  perpetuate  so  unique  and  rich  a  record. 
That  is  just  a  specimen  of  the  man's  jwwer  of  satire.  It  is  no 
violation  of  charity  to  conclude  from  its  perusal  that  the 
passengers — well  known  at  Llandovery — were  not  the  most 
saintly  of  men,  and  that  the  author  was  very  considerate  of 
his  Satanic  Majesty's  digestive  organs,  which,  if  over-tasked, 
might  bring  on  congestion  of  the  liver. 

Physically  Brutus  was  a  fine-built  man,  about  six  feet  in 
height,  with  small  and  beautifully  formed  feet  and  hands,  which 
in  this  case  appeared  to  have  been  given  as  a  rebuke  to  the 
favoured  sons  and  daughters  of  fortune  for  their  imaginary 
possession  of  these  exclusively  distinctive  marks  of  high  birth 
and  breeding.  The  usual  expression  of  his  face  was  grave 
almost  to  severity.  The  small,  beautifully  shaped  mouth  was, 
when  he  was  moody,  screwed  up  into  grimness.  In  the  society 
of  strangers,  or  of  people  about  whom  he  was  dubious,  the 
glances  of  his  eyes  were  timid,  fiulive,  and  cautious,  putting 
an  on-looker  slightly  in  mind  of  a  conspirator.  He  was 
inclined  to  be  taciturn,  except  in  the  society  of  people  whom 
he  liked,  when  he  would  imbend  and  entertain  those  around 
him  with  solid  talk  or  by  relating  stories,  which  he  could  do 
with  inimitable  effect,  for  he  could  always  pad  them  well,  and 
find  suitable  trimmings  of  playful  comic  exaggerations.  He 
rarely  laughed  at  his  own  stories,  being  of  a  d^erent  opinion 
from  Charles  Lamb,  who  maintained  that  he  saw  no  reason  why 
a  man  should  not  laugh  at  his  own  stories  any  more  than  a  host 
should  not  partake  of  a  dinner  to  which  he  had  invited  his 
friends.  Brutus  was  possessed  of  a  very  large  share  of  what 
he  was  never  credited  with  by  those  who  knew  him  only  by  his 
amusing  style  of  writing,  and  that  was  common  sense.  He  was 
a  very  shrewd,  sensible,  and  correct  reader  of  character.  He  was 
an  affectionate  man,  but  not  demonstrative;  of  a  placable 
disposition,  loyal  to  his  friends,  true  as  steel,  and  reliable  to  the 
last  fibre  in  his  nature.  He  was  possessed  of  a  good  deal 
of  unconsdoos  dignity,  and  his  pride  never  permitted  him  to 


« BEUTUS."  403 

ofifer  any  apology  for  his  lean  belongings.     This  is  strikingly 
shown  in  tlie  account  given  by  a  friend  whom  he  had  asked 
to  dinner.     Knowing  by  report  the  meagre  condition  of  his 
host's   larder,   and  fearful   of  putting  him  to  any  additional 
expense,  his  friend  thought  of  declining  the  invitation.     But 
out  of  respect  to  Brutus's  feelings,  and  resolving  to  pay  for  his 
entertainment  by  gratuities  to  the  children,  he  went.   In  the  two 
roomed  cottage  where  they  met,  there  was  a  deal  table  without 
ii  cloth,  but  as  clean  and  white  as  soap,  hot  water,  and  elbow  grease 
could  make  it.     The  odd  vegetable  dishes,  plates  and  meat  dish, 
though  bearing  marks  of  having  met  with  damaging  accidents, 
were  equally  clean.    The  entertainment  consisted  of  a  very 
small  and  tender  leg  of  Welsh  mutton  boiled,  with  turnips  and 
potatoes  out  of  the  host's  own  garden,  all  well  cooked.     When 
everything    was    laid,    Brutus,    who    was    no   carver,  desired 
his    guest    to    "divide    the     means,"     which     he     expressed 
his    readiness    to    do ;    but    on    proceeding    to    business   he 
discovered    there     was     no     knife,     whereupon     a    court    of 
inquiry  was   instituted,  before  which   the  boys   underwent  a 
searching  examination  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  several  knives 
which  were   in  their  proper  place  in  the  morning.     It  then 
transpired  that  A.  had  taken  the  white  handled  knife  to  cut  a 
bandy  stick  and  had  mislaid  it ;  that  B.  had  had  the  red  handled 
one  to  make  a  whistle  out  of  a  withy  stick,  and  had  dropped  it 
in  the  brook,  while  C,  who  had  taken  the  brown  handled  one  to 
cut  carrot  tops,  had  lost  it  in  the  garden.    Things  began  to  look 
serious  when,  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  the  black  handled  knife 
turned  up,  and  the  mutton  was  speedily  carved.     Brutus  used 
his  pocket  knife  and  a  fork  of  more  prongs  and  of  older  design 
than  any  ever  made  at  SheflBeld  or  Birmingham.     They  all 
made  a  joyful  dinner,  and  when  he  and  his  friend  had  done,  the 
cook  and  juniors  of  the  household  fell  to,  as  the  Lancashire 
people  say,  and  of  the  leg  of  mutton,  after  their  operations, 
there  was  left  only  the  well-polished  bone.    After  dinner  a 
bottle,  containing  gin,  enough  to  make  two  glasses  of  comforting 
mixture,  was  produced,  and  in  sipping  his  portion  and  listening 
to  his  host's  admirable  reading  of   portions  of   Bloomfield's 
poetical  works,  a  very  memorable  afternoon  was  spent.     What 
struck  his  friend  most  was  Brutus's  calm,  unrufSed,  dignified 
deportment    imder    circumstances    which    would    have    sadly 
disconcerted  another,  not  "  breeched  in  manhood,"  and  fortified 
by    lusty    independence  of   conventional  pre-eminence.     His 
humour,  poor  fellow,  had  often  served  him  as  a  secular  grace  at 
manv  a  time  of  need.    All  his  bitter  disappointments  and 
pinching  trials  had  failed  to  sour  into  misanthropy  the  mUk  of 
human  kindness  within  him. 

The  sad  story  of  this  largely  gifted  man  has  uot  V^^^mNj^^ 

A  A  2 


404  NOTABLE  MEN  OF  WALES. 

with  too  great  minuteness  if  it  serves,  as  it  is  hoped  it  may,  t 
show  that  Welshmen  have  never  raised  a  more  minous  ciy  tha; 
that  of  **  Oes  y  byd  i'r  iaith  Gymraeg.''  This,  when  tiaiislatei 
into  sober  common  sense,  most  mean  ^^Oes  y  byd^  t 
comparative  poverty — intellectnal  and  material,  and  th 
continued  self-imposition  of  a  yoke  of  bondage  to  matter-of-fieu; 
practical  Englishmen.  The  cost  of  this  unw(»-Idly  cry  may  h 
estimated  by  the  money  value  of  the  grand  mansions  and  fiiu 
estates  which  have  been  gutted  out  of  barren  mountains  oi 
which  poor  old  Taffy  was  content  to  pasture  a  few  sheep  anc 
ponies.  There  is  no  "  bread  to  the  man  of  understandii^  "  i 
he  expects  to  earn  it  by  the  cultivation  of  what  has  beei 
presumptuously  and  pompously  called  Welsh  literatiiT^.  Then 
are  saving  lessons  to  be  learned  from  Brutus's  life,  which  wau 
one  long  continued  fight  between  heart  likings  and  tin 
mortifying  exactions  of  a  precariously  dependent  position 
Poor  he  was  in  the  material  sense  of  the  word,  but  not  in  the 
qualities  that  go  to  make — under  certain  conditions — i 
thoroughly  manly,  honest,  outspeaking  man. 

Unconscionable  as  is  the  length  of  this  biographical  sketch,  one 
other  short  final  paragraph  must  be  added  to  it.  What  was  th( 
real  inner  life  of  this,  in  many  respects,  remarkable  man  ?  B^^ 
the  Nonconformists  he  was  regarded  as  a  Balaam  hired  to  curse 
their  Israel,  while  clergymen  used  him  as  a  convenient  tool  to  d( 
work  which  they  would  not  have  soiled  their  hedging  gloves  t< 
touch.  He  was  in  politics,  theoretically,  a  Bepublican,  for  hov 
could  he,  as  in  fact  he  never  did,  doubt  that  the  tools  an 
always  for  him  who  knows  how  to  handle  them.  A  man  can  be 
proud  only  of  what  he  possesses,  and  brain  power  was  Brutus's 
only  property.  For  the  battles  of  sectarians  against  each  other 
and  their  imited  fights  against  the  Established  Church 
he  cared  no  more  in  reality  than  for  the  wrangles  ol 
a  number  of  hungry  dogs  about  a  solitary  blanchec 
bone.  What  in  reaUty  to  him  was  the  whole  miscellaneou: 
cleric  world,  with  its  high  and  thick  thorn-fence,  through  whicl 
the  occupants  of  the  fancied  secure  inclosure,  if  they  had  ear 
to  hear,  might  have  heard  the  roar  of  the  far  greater  work 
outside  ?  His  loved  domain  was  literature,  and  his  world  was 
the  all  comprehensive  one  of  politics.  A  friend  once  observec 
to  him  that  he  committed  intellectual  suicide  when  he  lefi 
Bristol  College  before  the  expiration  of  four  years,  the  allottee 
period  of  study,  and  that  if  he  had  devoted  his  days  and  night: 
during  that  time  to  a  thorough  mastery  of  the  Englisl 
language,  with  its  enormous  wealth,  he  might  have  become 
Editor  of  the  Tvnies,  instead  of  an  obscure  Welsh  magazine 
**  Yes,"  he  replied,  "and  then  I  should  have  had  the  pleasure  o: 
shooting  eagles  instead  of  crows!"    Poor  fellow!    It  was  ir 


"  BRUTUS."  405 

shooting  such  sorry  and  lean  game  that  he  spent  a  long  life, 
obliged,  into  the  bargain,  to  find  his  own  gun  and  ammunition. 
In  the  month  of  January,  1866,  he  himself  was  shot  dead  by  the 
grim  archer.  He  now  sleeps  his  last  sleep  in  Ll3rwel  Church- 
yard, near  Trecastle.  To  mark  his  lowly  bed,  and  the  name  of 
its  occupier,  a  stone  was  erected,  and  a  mural  tablet  to  his 
memory  placed  in  the  church,  with  suitable  inscriptions  on  both, 
at  the  expense  of  his  true  friend  and  admirer,  the  late  Mr. 
William  Bees,  of  Tonn,  near  Llandovery, 

"  They  say — 
What  do  they  say : 
Let  them  say." 

Glaswyn. 


OF    HIGH     DEGREE. 


By  Charles  Gibbon,  Author  of  "  Bobin  Ctray,"  "  A  Heart'; 
Problem,"  "In  Honour  Bound,"  **  Queen  of  the  JIeadow,' 

"The  Braes  of  Yarrow,"  &c.,  &c. 


CHAPTER  LV.— "Needs  must  when  the "  etcetkra. 

On  arriving  at  the  Dunthorpe  station  Kapier  obtained  ;i 
telegraph  form  and  wrote : 

"  Everybody  is  as  well  as  could  he  eocpected  and  doing  evei^y- 
thing  they  are  bid.  All  that  you  wish  Is  being  done.  Wait  uj, 
foi*  me.     /  shall  amve  about  midnight'^ 

This  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Whitcombe,  at  the  Bridge  House 
Hotel,  London  Bridge. 

Rapier  then  went  on  to  the  dark  deserted  platform. 

He  sought  the  station-master  and  arranged  with  him  to  b€ 
permitted  to  travel  in  the  van  of  the  next  goods  train. 

He  had  scarcely  passed  out  of  the  booking  office  when  Ruth 
entered  it. 

The  window  at  the  booking  place  was  closed.  She  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  office,  and  said, 

"  I  want  to  send  a  telegram  with  Mr.  Rapier's  to  the  same 
lady." 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Clark,"  and  he  handed  her  a  form. 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  write  the  address  for  me — copy  it 
from  Mr.  Rapier's  message,  because  I  am  not  quite  sure  tliat  I 
remember  it  correctly." 

The  clerk  wrote  the  address  and  good-naturedly  waited  foi  her 
to  dictate  the  rest. 

"  Do  nothing  until  I  arrive.-^ 

She  did  not  know  by  what  instinct  she  had  been  guided  to 
suspect  that  there  was  some  arrangement  between  Dahlia  and 
Rapier,  but  here  at  the  first  step  she  had  taken  in  this  duel 
with  the  man  she  found  her  suspicions  confirmed. 

"  If  you  will  take  a  chair  I  will  see  the  station-master,**  he 
fiaid. 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  407 

He  went  out,  and  in  a  few  minutes  returned  with  the  station- 
master. 

"  I  am  told  that  you  want  to  get  to  I^ndon  by  the  goods 
train,  Miss  Clark,  and  that  you  do  not  want  Mr.  Rapier,  who  is 
also  going  by  it,  to  know  of  your  presence.  I  thought  he  was 
a  great  friend  of  Mr.  Dottridge." 

There  was  no  time  to  choose  means  to  her  end,  and  she  chose 
the  course  which  would  have  been  the  right  one  under  any 
circumstances — she  told  the  truth. 

*'  He  is ;  but  we  have  reason  to  suspect  him  of  some  imfair 
dealings,  and  we  wish  to  find  out  whether  we  are  right  or  not. 
For  that  purpose  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  I  should 
reach  London  at  the  same  time  as  he  does." 

The  station-master  was  even  more  puzzled  than  the  clerk ; 
for  the  latter  was  ready  to  yield  blind  obedience  to  one  whom  he 
respected  so  much  as  Ruth ;  the  former  would  have  liked  to 
understand  a  little  of  the  nature  of  the  business  on  which  he 
was  engaged. 

"  It's  a  little  awkward,  Miss,  for  you  see  there's  only  the  van, 
and  you  can't  travel  in  one  of  the  trucks." 

**  I  don't  care  in  what  I  travel — I  am  ready  to  sit  on  the  toi> 
of  a  heap  of  coals — but  I  want  to  get  to  I^ondon  at  the  same 
time  as  he  does." 

"  You  won't  have  to  do  that,  Miss.  I  think  I've  got  it.  I'll 
tell  him  that  he  must  go  on  the  engine  as  one  of  the  directors 
is  travelling  in  the  van.     That'll  do  it." 

*'  I  shall  not  forget  your  kindness." 

**  I  have  one  more  favour  to  ask.  What  w^s  the  name  of  the 
guard  by  the  last  train  up  ?" 

"It  was  Fred  Winstanley— you  have  travelled  with  him 
often." 

"Winstanley — that  is  most  fortunate."  Ruth  could  with 
difficulty  suppress  her  joyful  excitement,  for  this  man  not  only 
knew  her,  but  also  Dahlia.  He  would  in  all  probability  have 
had  to  render  some  service  to  the  solitary  traveller,  and  might 
be  able  to  give  some  information  about  her  movements 
after  quitting  the  train.  "  Can  you  give  me  his  address  in 
London  ?" 

"  It  isn't  quite  usual  to  give  addresses,  Miss,  but,  of  course, 
you  can  have  it." 

"  He  gave  it  me  himself  once,  but  I  have  not  got  it  with  me," 
ahe  said,  eager  to  satisfy  the  station-master  that  he  was  com- 
mitting no  breach  of  faith.  "  He  has  a  daughter  for  whom  I 
procured  a  situation.  The  place  they  lived  in  then  was  some- 
where off  Bishopsgate-street. 

«  He  Uves  there  still— it's  24,  Church  Alley." 

An  electric  bell  rang  sharply. 

^^  That's  the  train,  ISIiss.    The  guard's  name  is  Muddock. 


408  OF  HIGH  DEGREE, 

ril  tell  him  what  to  do — it'll  be  all  right.     You  wait  here, 
please,  till  I  come  for  you." 

Ruth  waited  patiently  whilst  the  weary  clerk  made  what 
speed  he  could  to  finish  his  long  day's  work. 

The  station-master  found  Rapier  pacing  the  platform  and 
smoking  a  cigar. 

"  It's  a  cold  night,  sir,  will  you  come  into  my  room  until  the 
train  comes  up  ?" 

"  Certainly,  if  vou  don't  object  to  smoke." 

"  Not  at  this  hour." 

They  went  into  the  room,  a  plainly  furnished  but  clean 
looking  place,  with  an  office  table  in  the  centre  of  the  floor, 
and  some  stiff-backed  chairs  ranged  in  orderly  position — it 
might  be  called  military  fashion — round  the  walls. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  have  a  pleasant  journey,"  said  the 
good-natured  but  cunning  station-master.  ^The  fact  is,  one 
of  our  directors  is  going  up  in  the  van." 

"  That  will  be  all  the  better.  We  can  have  a  smoke  and  a 
chat  together.     I  am  a  shareholder,  you  know." 

"  I  beg  yoiur  pardon.  He  happens  to  be  an  eccentric  person- 
age, and  might  cause  me  some  trouble  if  I  put  you  in  the  van 
beside  him,  and  he  doesn't  smoke." 

"Put  me  somewhere  else,  then." 

"  I  can  do  that ;  you  can  go  on  the  engine  if  you  will  promise 
to  keep  out  of  the  director's  sight." 

"  Of  coiurse  I  will,  and  it  will  be  a  treat  to  travel  on  the 
ongine ;  then  I  can  smoke  as  well  as  it." 

"  Very  well.  I  will  go  and  arrange  matters,  and  come  for 
you  before  the  train  starts,  when  I  see  the  coast  clear." 

The  station-master  carried  out  his  little  manoeuvre  with  com- 
plete success.  Ruth  was  comfortably  seated  in  the  guard's 
box-seat,  and  Rapier  was  on  the  engine  making  himself  agree- 
able to  the  driver  and  stoker. 

It  was  midnight  when  the  train  reached  Liverpool-street, 
liapier  jumped  down  and  hurried  oflf  into  the  shadows  of  the 
vast  space  in  search  of  a  cab. 

Ruth  had  made  her  arrangements.  Muddock  had  jumped 
out,  ran  ahead  of  Rapier  and  secured  the  first  hansom,  and 
gave  the  direction  where  and  how  to  drive.  Ruth  followed 
.swiftly,  and  her  skirts  touched  Rapier  as  she  passed  him. 

She  was  at  the  Bridge  House  Hotel  in  about  ten  minutes. 

No  one  of  the  name  of  Whitcombe  was  there,  but  two  tele- 
grams had  arrived  addressed  to  that  lady,  and  the  porter — a 
genial  old  man — supposed  that  the  lady  was  coming,  although 
they  had  no  message  from  her. 

Ruth  flitted  by  Rapier  as  she  hastened  back  to  her  cab. 

She  drove  straight  to  Winstanley's  place.  The  slavey  who 
opened  the  door  was  not  only  sleepy  but  sulky,  and  eyed  Ruth 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  409 

with  considerable  suspicion  as  she  denied  that  the  man  was  at 
home. 

A  half-crown,  cleverly  slipped  into  her  hand,  quickened  her 
faculties,  and  she  remembered  that  she  had  heard  somebody 
come  in. 

"  May  be  it  was  Mr.  Winstanley." 

She  would  go  and  see. 

The  guard,  considerably  astounded  by  the  intimation  that 
<  here  was  a  lady  who  wanted  to  see  him  "  partic'ler "  at  that 
hour,  came  down  to  the  door. 

The  passage  was  quite  dark,  but  there  was  a  lamp  close  by, 
and  Ruth  turned  towards  it. 

*'  Can  you  see  my  face,  Mr.  Winstanley  ?" 

He  was  a  tall,  stout  man,  with  bushy  red  whiskers,  mous- 
tache, and  beard,  kindly  blue  eyes,  and  an  expression  of  intelli- 
gent frankness. 

"  Miss  Clark,  of  Dunthorpe,  I  think,"  he  said  in  a  tone 
which  suggested  that  he  did  not  believe  his  own  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad  you  recognise  me,  and  I  know  you  will  for- 
give me  for  disturbing  you  at  this  untimely  hour  when  you 
learn  the  cause." 

"  I  know  it  must  be  something  important,  although  I  can't 
guess  what  it  may  be,  or  how  I  can  help  you.  But  1  am  ready 
to  do  anything  you  require.  Miss,"  said  Winstanley  respectfully. 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  be  willing  to  help  me.  You  remember 
Miss  Whitcombe,  who  is  now  Mrs.  Meredith,  of  Derewood  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,  and  she  travelled  with  us  to-night." 

Ruth's  heart  leapt  with  pleasure  and  satisfaction. 

"Did  you  speak  to  her — can  you  tell  me  where  she  went  on 
leaving  the  train  ?"  were  the  eager  inquiries.  "  She  was  to  have 
gone  to  the  Bridge  House  Hotel,  but  she  is  not  there." 

Winstanley  stared  in  bewilderment  for  a  moment ;  then  he 
4[uickly  caught  some  idea  of  the  situation — it  was  not  a  very 
uncommon  one — the  lady  had  run  away  from  home. 

"  She  didn't  come  to  London  at  alL  She  spoke  to  me  at 
Dunthorpe,  and  asked  me  how  she  could  get  to  Harwich  ?" 

"  And  what  did  you  tell  her  to  do  ?" 

"  I  told  her  to  get  out  at  Chelmsford,  and  she  would  catch  the 
O.oO  down — that  was  the  last  train  she  could  catch,  and  we  were 
Justin  time  for  it.  I  got  her  ticket  and  off  she  went.  •  .  . 
I  hope  there  ain't  nothing  particular  wrong." 

He  added  that  sympathetically. 

"  I  fear  there  is,  Mr.  Winstanley,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  How 
soon  can  I  get  to  Harwich  ?" 

"Well,  there's  a  train  at  5.10  a.m.,"  answered  the  guard 
reflectively,  "but  the  most  comfortable  one  is  the  10  a.m.,  and 
that  gets  there  about  12.15." 

"  When  does  the  first  one  arrive  ?" 


410  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

**  It's  timed  for  seven  forty-five." 

"  I  shall  go  by  that  one.  Now,  Mr.  Winstanley,  will  you  come 
with  me  to  any  hotel  near  the  station  where  you  are  known  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Miss,  the  people  at  the  Queen's  Head  know  me.'* 

He  went  with  her  cheerfully,  and  she  had  no  difficulty  in 
obtaining  acconmiodation. 

She  was  well  contented  with  her  adventure  so  far,  and  she  had 
no  doubt  that  she  would  reach  Dahlia  before  Bapier,  for  it  was 
evident  by  the  address  of  the  telegram  that  he  did  not  know- 
where  she  was.  Ruth  felt  that  she  had  gained  a  victory. 
Dahlia  would  be  saved. 

But  Ruth  did  not  bargain  for  the  weakness  of  Dahlia.  Rapier 
did. 

When  he  found  that  she  was  not  at  the  Bridge  House  Hotel, 
he  took  Bradshaw.  He  saw  that  she  could  get  to  Harwich  that 
night  if  she  got  out  at  Chelmsford;  and  as  it  had  been 
arranged  between  them  that  after  I^ndon  she  was  to  go 
to  Harwich  en  rou^e  for  the  Continent,  he  had  no  doubt  she  had 
altered  the  programme  a  little  and  gone  straight  there. 

So  he  went  to  bed,  telling  Boots  to  rouse  him  early. 


CHAPTER  LVI.— The  Flight. 

That  was  a  sad  night  for  Dahlia. 

She  carried  out  the  arrangements  for  her  sudden  flight  with 
surprising  outward  calmness  for  one  of  such  an  excitable 
temperament. 

She  knew  that  it  would  grieve  ]\Ir.  Dottridge,  and  that,  how- 
ever little  he  might  care  for  her,  Stephen  would  feel  keenly  the 
shame  which  this  act  would  reflect  on  him.  It  would  shock  the 
pride  of  all  the  Derewood  family,  and,  above  all,  it  would  make 
Ruth's  position  at  Kemerton  imbearable. 

This  was  a  sweet  revenge  for  all  that  she  had  been  made 
to  suffer. 

There  was  also  a  mischievous  pleasure  in  having  bamboozled 
Rapier.  She  had  completely  8ix)iled  what  she  surmised — ^but 
not  quite  correctly — to  be  his  clever  little  plan.  He  wanted 
to  give  her  flight  the  appearance  of  an  elopement  with  him. 
But  by  avoiding  the  first  part  of  the  programme  he  had  marked 
out,  and  going  straight  to  Harwich  alone,  she  thought  that 
she  had  foiled  the  scheme. 

No,  she  was  not  going  to  elojie  with  him  or  any  man — at 
least^  not  yet. 

She  eired,  however,  in  her  conception  of  Rapier's  plot.  He 
did  not  wish  it  to  appear  that  she  had  eloped  with  aim :  that 
was  to  be  a  last  step  when  he  had  absolutely 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  411 

Euth.  The  reason  was  a  simple  one ;  he  knew  that  Ruth  was  a 
bigger  prize  than  Dahlia  in  fortune,  and  he  believed  a  better 
one  in  the  character  of  the  lady. 

Then  with  the  weakness  upon  which  he  had  calculated,  Dahlia 
was  now  doing  everything  he  had  suggested  except  making  the 
preliminary  journey  to  London. 

Her  unhappy  satisfaction  at  this  moment,  however,  at  the 
thought  of  the  misery  her  flight  would  cause,  sustained  her 
in  the  first  steps  of  it. 

In  the  carriage,  into  which  she  was  hurried  at  Chelmsford, 
there  were  two  ladies  and  a  clergyman.  They  were  chatting 
merrily  together :  he  describing  his  quiet  little  parsonage  and 
the  simple  occupations  of  his  wife  and  self.  They  were  things 
he  was  proud  of,  and  he  talked  as  some  men  do  on  such 
occasions  as  if  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  a  stranger.  He 
had  much  to  say  about  their  glebe,  their  fhiits,  their  flowers, 
and  the  happy  relations  existing  between  him  and  his 
parishioners. 

Sitting  silent  in  her  comer  and  hearing  most  of  what  was 
said.  Dahlia  compared  this  quiet,  even  life  with  the  passionate 
incidents  of  her  own,  and  she  longed  for  such  a  peaceful 
existence. 

On  arriving  at  Harwich  she  engaged  a  porter  to  guide  her 
to  the  hotel.  On  entering  the  large  hall  of  the  Great 
Eastern  her  appearance  at  that  hour  unattended  and  without 
luggage  did  not  cause  so  much  surprise  to  the  two  sleepy  waiters^ 
who  were  standing  there  as  she  had  feared  it  would.  The 
manager  was  called  and  she  explained  that  she  had  been  obliged 
to  leave  home  very  unexpectedly  and  luggage  would  follow. 
He  was  a  shrewd  but  a  kindly  gentleman.  He  saw  at  once  that 
she  was  a  lady  in  some  domestic  distress  ;  and  a  chambermaid 
immediately  conducted  her  to  a  cheery,  comfortable  room. 

She  had  still  that  outward  coolness  of  manner  which  had 
come  upon  her  so  suddenly,  and  although  she  had  no  desire  for 
food,  she  ordered  some  tea  to  be  brought,  as  she  wished  to 
appear  as  little  eccentric  as  possible. 

But  when  the  door  closed  finally,  and  she  was  left  alone  for 
the  night,  she  sat  down  feeling  a  kind  of  dull  wonder  at  all' 
that  had  happened.  The  resentment  and  passion  which  had 
sustained  her  so  far  were  already  beginning  to  desert  her. 

She  began  slowly  to  realise  that  she  was  there,  miles  away 
from  home  without  the  possibility  of  returning  that  night. 
And  how  would  she  be  able  to  do  it  in  the  morning  ?  She 
began  slowly  to  understand  that  she  had  separated  herself  from 
Stephen,  that  she  had  done  it  with  the  wild  desire  to  break  his 
heart,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  to  be'^her  own  that  was  to  b^ 
broken  instead,  for  she  could  have  no  happiae^^  m\i>\o\s^i\2C«cv.^ 

Was  it  really  all  over  then  ?    Was  tliexe  to  \>^  tlo  xdlqx^  \^^ 


-398  NOTABLE  MP:N  OF  WALES. 

of  a  visit  paid  him  by  his  father,  who  until  then  had  never  been 
inside  a  gaol,  the  old  man  stating  that  the  outside  quite  satisfied 
him.  After  crossing  the  threshold  of  the  prison,  and  hearing 
the  door  locked  and  bolt-ed,  he  began  to  feel  very  queer  all  over. 
When  he  was  ushered  into  his  son's  room  he  burst  into  tears  at 
sight  of  him,  exclaiming  in  doleful  tones,  interrupted  by  deep 
sobs,  "  0  Deio  bach !  1  never  thought  I  should  see  you  in 
prison."  He  was  asked  to  take  a  seat,  while  orders  were  given 
to  bring  him  solid  refreshment,  of  which,  as  well  as 
of  his  share  of  sundry  jugs  of  wholesome  home-brewed  ale 
from  a  neighbouring  hostelry,  he  was  nothing  loth  to  partake, 
for  joy  and  sorrow  are  equally  exhaustive  of  nervous  energy  as 
the  hardest  bodily  exertion.  He  showed  such  signs  of  returning 
good  spirits,  if  not  of  incipient  elevation,  that  in  taking  leave  of 
his  son  at  the  prison  door  he  was  candid  enough  to  admit  that 
after  all  a  gaol  was  not  nearly  so  bad  a  place  as  had  been 
represented.  Aye,  aye,  the  old  saying  is  a  true  one  as  to 
*'  filling  the  heart  with  food  and  gladness." 

Once  more,  but  finally  through  mercy,  the  old  perplexing 
<|uestion — "  what  to  do  " — turns  up,  for  the  stomach-clocks 
of  the  household  keep  time  to  a  second,  and  good  digestion 
finds  a  quickening  auxiliary  in  the  bracing  air  which  sweeps 
over  the  surrounding  heights.  Kelief  of  some  sort  is  obtained 
from  an  announcement  that  the  Independents  are  going  to 
start  a  denominational  organ,  to  be  called  the  Evangelist^  and 
that  he  was  appointed  to  the  post  of  editor  with  a  salary  which 
was  not  an  evangel  of  ample  food  and  raiment  for  himself 
and  family.  He  was  forced  again  to  keep  a  day  school,  to 
whose  drudgery  his  "  poverty,  and  not  his  will,"  compelled  him 
to  submit.  It  must  be  confessed  that  he  was  only  a  very 
ordinary  schoolmaster,  for  instead  of  attending  to  the  children 
he  was  too  often  lost  in  reveries  and  reflections  on  an  article  soon 
wanted  for  the  monthly  of  which  he  had  taken  charge,  and  out 
of  these  tasks  nothing  short  of  the  Babel  hubbub  of  unruly  boys 
and  girls  could  rouse  him.  Then  standing  up  to  his  full  height, 
and  putting  on  a  solemn  judicial  air,  he  would  summon  before 
him  the  real  or  supposed  ringleader  of  the  turmoil,  when  he 
would  address  him  in  the  following  designedly  grandiose  style : 
— "  I  give  thee  timely  warning  that  if  ever  again  I  discover  any 
symptoms  of  an  incipient  tendency  towards  rebellion  against 
constituted  authority,  it  will  become  my  imperative  duty  to 
apply  a  certain  disciplinary  instrument  to  thy  ablative,  which 
will  not  fail  to  quicken  the  circulation  of  the  ruddy  fluid  in  that 
division  of  thy  humanity."  The  poor  culprit,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot,  and  no  Daniel  at  hand  to  interpret  these  awful 
words,  of  whose  meaning  he  had  no  more  idea  than  of  Arabic,  was 
left  to  divine  whether  they  could  by  any  possibility  mean  what  the 
Lancashire  youngsters  understand  when  their  mothers  threaten 


"  BEUTUS."  399 

to  xvami  them.  Brutus  well  knew  that  the  unknown  is  an 
awful  instrument  of  terror,  and  that  its  true  sense  should  not 
be  disclosed  by  translation.  It  was  only  when  O'Connell  called 
the  old  Dublin  applewomac,  whom  he  had  challenged  to  play 
41  game  at  scurrility,  an  isosceles  triangle  that  she  was  struck 
dumb  and  confounded.  The  editor  of  the  Evangelist  had  no 
occasion  to  use  a  cane  or  birch  rod  so  long  as  the  seal  of  the 
untranslated  remained  unbroken.  According  to  his  own  account, 
he  had,  as  the  result  of  various  experiments,  discovered  a  very 
economical  method  of  correcting  his  own  children,  who  in 
running  in  and  out  of  his  living-room  and  study,  did  not  render 
him  much  help  while  engaged  in  writing  an  article.  He  said 
he  could  not  have  found  time  to  correct  each  one's  ofifence  at 
the  moment  of  its  commission,  and  that  his  plan  was  to  set 
opposite  each  offender's  name  a  sufficient  number  of  transgres- 
sions to  *'fill  up  the  measure  of  their  iniquity."  He  then 
devoted  an  hour  or  two  to  pursuing  the  nimble  fugitives,  who, 
to  avoid  being  overtaken,  concealed  themselves  amidst  the  tall 
gorse  and  entangled  brushwood  of  a  neighbouring  hill,  where 
he  would  leave  them,  he  himself  returning  home  to  furnish  an 
article  wanted  for  the  press  undisturbed  by  the  mischievous 
rogues.  Towards  nightfall  they  would  come  peeping  through 
the  window  to  ascertain  if  the  storm  had  subsided,  and  finding 
there  was  a  great  calm,  they  instantly  availed  themselves  of  it 
to  sneak  into  bed,  without  their  supper,  it  is  true,  but  then  with- 
out punishment. 

The  Evangelist,  under  Brutus,  became  at  once  the  most 
popular  periodical  in  Wales.  The  editor's  beautiful  rhyth- 
mical style  created  among  old  and  young  a  love  of  reading, 
and  in  many  of  the  latter  a  taste  for  literary  composi- 
tion which  has  since  borne  ample  fruit.  Political  subjects, 
which  were  only  briefly  and  drily  treated  in  other  monthlies, 
received  able  treatmimt  from  his  pen,  while  his  humour  and 
terseness  enabled  him  to  create  all  but  living  figures  out  of 
abstractions  dry  as  the  bones  in  Ezekiel's  Wsion.  His  mode  of 
writing  on  all  subjects  was  eminently  fitted  to  arrest  the  atten- 
tion of  his  volatile  countrymen,  sorely  in  need  of  an  enlarged 
sphere  of  observation  and  of  a  widened  horizon.  Hungry 
men,  keenly  on  the  look  out  for  a  meal,  never  desired  it  more 
eagerly  than  did  the  readers  of  this  periodical  its  monthly 
appearance.  Brutus  was  t  he  first  Welsh  writer  who  made  politics 
popular.  Several  others  have  since  followed  in  his  wake,  and 
notably  one  (Hiraethog)  who  has  proved  his  superior,  even  in  the 
qualities  which  had  made  him  excel  all  others.  No  clever 
worker  in  any  field  of  mental  labour  but  has  produced  his 
equal  and  occasionally  his  superior.  The  enthusiastic  admirap- 
tion  which  any  kind  of  superiority  produces  has  a  tendency  to 


414  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

"  I  have  no  fear  for  her  life,  but  there  are  some  things  which 
may  befall  a  woman  that  are  worse  than  death." 

"  And  I  am  not  afraid  of  that,"  said  Stephen,  warmly. 

"  Then  I  think  you  need  not  alarm  yourself,"  was  the  con- 
fident reply.  "  What  we  have  to  do  now  is  to  take  the  best 
measures  we  can  to  discover  her." 

«  What  can  we  do  ?" 

"  I  confess  that  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know.  But  as  she  did  get 
into  the  train  and  did  not  arrive  with  it  she  must  have  got  out 
at  some  other  station.  We  can  telegraph  to  all  the  stations  at 
which  the  train  stopped  between  this  and  Dunthorpe.  Some- 
body must  have  seen  her." 

That  was  a  shrewd  and  practical  idea,  and  it  was  at  once 
carried  out.  But,  unfortunately,  the  telegraph  offices  at  the 
<'ountry  stations  were  closed  at  that  hour,  and  answers,  there- 
fore, could  not  be  received  until  the  morning. 

"  What  next  ?"  was  Stephen's  eager  question,  for  he  was  so 
much  excited  that  he  was  unable  to  suggest  anything  himself. 

So  they  went  to  the  Queen's  Head  Hotel,  where  Mr. 
Dottridge  had  been  in  the  frequent  custom  of  stajring  when  in 
town. 

And  Buth  slept  under  the  same  roof,  and  started  in  the 
morning  without  knowing  that  she  had  been  so  near  to  those 
she  would  have  been  so  glad  to  see.  She  had,  however,  sent 
her  message  to  Bassnett's  office,  giving  them  all  the  information 
they  required,  and  it  w^  only  by  the  delay  of  their  cab  that 
they  missed  the  train  in  which  Eapier  travelled. 

Ruth  was  at  Harwich  by  eight  o'clock.  She  found  the  porter 
who  had  guided  Dahlia  to  the  Great  Eastern,  and  thither  she 
went  with  anxious  thoughts  of  the  interview  about  to  take 
place. 

"  The  lady  went  away  this  morning  to  catch  the  early  up 
irain,"  was  the  answer  to  her  inquiries  for  Mrs.  Whitcombe. 

(To  be  continued). 


OEOLOGICAL  NOTES  AND  REMINISCENCES  .OF 

CENTRAL  WALES. 


Article  II. 

In  our  previous  paper  we  were  conducted  to  that  celebrated 
gorge  of  the  Wye — "The  Kocks" — where  we  found  beds  of 
Llandeilo  schist  and  interlaminated  bands  of  igneous  rocks 
alternating  in  a  variety  of  succession  and  with  diflTerent  degrees 
of  compactness.  As  this  Llandeilo  shale  is  the  oldest  formation 
found  in  the  neighbourhoods  of  Builth,  Llandrindod,  Llandegley 
and  Llanwrtyd,  it  has  been  thought  advisable  that,  for  the 
better  understanding  of  the  geological  structure  of  these  rocks, 
our  attention  should  be  turned  to  the  time  when,  and  manner 
in  which,  these  Llandeilo  beds,  with  their  interstratified  igneous 
matter,  were  respectively  deposited  on  and  overflowed  the 
bottom  of  a  Llandeilo  sea.  An  examination  of  the  rocks  in 
North  and  South  Wales  leads  us  to  the  indisputable  conclusion 
that  during  the  Cambrian  period,  which  preceded  the  Silurian, 
volcanic  power  was  particularly  active,  and  that  such  activity — 
only  with  diminished  force — continued  into  the  lower,  and  with 
a,  still  further  diminution  during  the  Upper  Llandeilo  epoch. 
I-.et  the  student  examine  the  rocks  of  Cader  Idris,  the  Arans, 
the  Arenigs,  the  Manods,  the  Berwyns,  the  base  of  the  Snow- 
donian  Kange,  the  district  westward  of  the  Stiper  Stones,  in 
Salop,  and  the  Caemeddau  fiange  of  mountains,  north  of  Builth, 
and  there  he  will  find,  particularly  in  the  seven  first-named 
localities,  vast  accumulations  of  igneous  rocks,  intercalated 
between  deposits  of  Llandeilo  shale.  The  successive  overflows 
of  vast  masses  of  streams  of  lava  over  Llandeilo  deposits  can  be 
referred  only  to  contemporaneous  submarine  volcanic  power  and 
consequent  ejections. 

The  living  crustaceans,  and  other  shell  fish,  formerly  inha- 
biting these  seas,  and  now  found  entombed  in  the  rocks,  testify 
to  its  once  having  been  a  sea  bottom ;  whilst  the  interbedded 
strata  of  lava  equally  as  emphatically  declare  the  existence  of 
submarine  volcanoes,  fissures,  chasms,  &c.,  through  which  the 
heated  matter,  heaved  up  by  the  internal  power^  vqa  -^xn^ 
out,  and  whence  it  overflowed  the  previoMsVj  de^^VV.^  %\x»X»»  ^'^ 


416         K0UXLS:ENCE.S  of  LENTE.VL  W.U-E^. 

a   Llandeilo  ocean.     Hut  it  is  not  to  thi<  period  of  volcanic 
outburst  that  we  are  to  attribute  the  elevation  of  the  strata  u* 
the  present  angle  of  about  forty  degrees ;  for  the  interlaminati^l 
beds  of  lava  have  undergone  precisely  the  same  tilslocation, 
elevation,  and  change  that   have  befallen  the  shale.     %\1ien, 
therefore,  this  old  lava  was  as  cold  as  it  is  now,  volcanic  j>i:»wer, 
through  successive  periods,  elevated  the  strata  of  the  LlaDdeiIt> 
flags,  with  its   interbedded   Trap,  together  with  the  superin- 
cumBent  masses,  to  their  present  angle.     Sir  R.  Murchison,  in 
his  SllurlOy  gives  an  "  Ideal  representation  of  the  manner  iu 
which    submarine    volcanic  dejections  were    probably   formeil 
during  the  early  Silurian  Period,"   which   may  be  e3qjlainetl 
thus  : — After  the  dejiosit  ion  of  pure  sedimentary  matter,  caused 
by  the  disintegration  of  the  land  then  raised  above  the  level  of 
the  ocean,  a  volcanic  outburst  would  take  place,  and  a  consequent 
stream  of  lava,  ejecterl  through  the  fissures,  &c.,  and  flowing 
over,  would  cover,  as  far  as  its  internal  heat  would  permit,  the 
previously  deposited  sedimentary  strata ;  and  thus  itself  become 
the  bottom  of  the  Llandeilo  sea.     This  season  of  activitv  would 
be  succeeded  by  one  of  repose,  when  regular  stratified  matter 
would  accumulate  again  on  the  ocean's  bed,  and  so  cover  the 
previous  streams  of  lava.     Another  volcanic  disturbance  would 
take  place,  with  similar  results  to  the  first-men tioneil ;  and  so 
on  successively  throughout  the  whole  of  the  series. 

The  animal  life  of  the  i>eriod,  during  these  commotion^, 
would  remove  itself  from  the  scene,  to  return  only  when  a 
season  of  tranquillity  succeeded  that  of  disturbance ;  for  the 
Llandeilo  beds,  though  separated  by  numerous  strata  of  igneous 
matter,  all  contain  the  same  characteristic  fossils  from  the  base 
of  the  formation  to  the  summit.  Professor  Grifliths,  of  King's 
College,  LiverjKX)!,  informed  me  that  he  once  found  a  crustacean 
imbedded  on  Trap.  This,  although  a  vara  avie^  is  certainly 
within  the  realms  of  probabilit3\  It  can  easily  be  conceiveii 
that,  when  the  Trap  ceased  flowing,  and  the  heat  refrigerated 
by  the  waters  of  the  ocean,  and  by  absence  of  its  derivative 
H>urce,  before  a  deposit  of  Llandeilo  matter  had  time  for 
accumulating,  the  crustaceans  rettuned  to  their  original  habitats, 
and  so  became  imbedded  on  the  Trap.  Or  it  may  be  that,  iu 
this  particular  instance,  a  crustacean — ^the  leader  of  his  tribe — 
returned  to  his  old  haunt  before  the  Trap  had  sufficiently  cooled^ 
and  taking  his  own  soundings  his  vulnerable  parts  were  assailed 
by  the  heated  lava ;  and  so  the  little  creature  died.  The 
intervals  of  time  between  the  disturbances  before-mentioned 
were  not  continued  with  any  degree  of  regularity,  nor  was  the 
overflow  of  lava,  or  fall  of  volcanic  ash,  equal  in  volume.  Some- 
times the  accumulation  of  flags  would  be  scores  of  feet  thick, 
whilst  the  overflow  of  lava  and  fall  of  ash  would  only  be  a  few, 
and  vice  versa.    This  ash  must  not  be  confounded  with  the 


REMINISCENCES  OF  CENTRAL  WALES.        417 

lava.  The  beds  composed  of  it  are  of  immense  thickness,  and 
always  found  on  the  western  flank  of  the  Caemeddau  Range. 
It  was  belched  from  volcanoes,  probably  but  slightly  elevated 
above  the  level  of  the  sea ;  and,  by  the  same  laws  in  operation 
then  as  now,  fell  into  the  surrounding  waters,  and  covering  the 
bed  of  the  ocean,  entombed  the  Brachiopods,  Echinodermatas, 
Crustaceans,  Cephalopods,  &c.,  found  within  its  range. 

Gosse,  in  his  work  on  "  The  Ocean,"  furnishes  an  illustration 
of  what  submarine  volcanoes  are  now  doing  in  mid-ocean.  He 
states  that  Capt.  Tillard,  an  officer  of  the  British  Navy,  in  the 
year  1811,  approaching  the  island  of  St.  Michael,  in  the 
Atlantic,  observed  columns  of  smoke  rising  on  the  horizon,  and 
from  what  he  had  heard  at  Lisbon,  he  concluded  that  a  volcano 
had  burst  out  within  the  sea.  The  captain's  description  of  the 
wonderful  phenomena  connected  with  and  caused  by  the 
volcanic  eruption  is  well  worthy  of  perusal.  It  is  too  long  for 
quotation  here  in  full.  Being  obliged  to  leave  the  day  following,  he 
had  no  means  of  ascertaining  how  long  the  spectacle  lasted, 
but  on  sailing  there  three  weeks  afterwards  he  found  an  island 
about  a  mile  in  circumference.  The  place  still  smoked  and  the 
water  in  the  largest  crater  was  hot.  Four  months  later,  in 
October,  the  island  had  disappeared. 

Siluria  (p.  88),  referring  to  the  Llandovery  rocks  in  Radnor- 
shire, &c.,  says  that  in  the  district  of  Shelve  and  Comdon,  in 
Shropshire,  and  Builth  and  Llandrindod,  in  Radnorshire,  "The 
Llandeilo  formation  appears  to  have  been  raised  from  beneath 
the  waters,  and  not  to  have  been  depressed  or  again  subjected 
to  any  marine  action  during  the  whole  period  when  the  Caradoc 
formation  was  accumulating."  Such  relations,  we  are  also  told, 
are  strikingly  exhibited  in  the  sections  of  the  geological  survey 
of  the  Builth  and  Llandrindod  districts.  It  was  during  this 
elevation  that  the  Caradoc  or  Bala  deposits  took  place,  with  all 
their  ramifications  of  igneous  matter,  which  at  subsequent 
periods  have  been  tilted  up  to  their  present  angles,  and,  by 
denuding  agencies,  have  been  sculptured  into  those  noble  moun- 
tains of  the  Snowdonian  Range.  At  the  close  of  the  Caradoc 
period,  this  region  was  again  subjected  to  depression,  for  on 
the  uptilted  edges  of  the  black  schist  is  found  the  Upper  Llan- 
dovery or  May  Hill  sandstone,  resting  at  an  angle  of  about 
twenty  degrees.  This  district  has,  therefore,  been  the  scene 
of  various  volcanic  movements  during  old  geological  times, 
and  my  readers  can  now  understand  that  the  uptilting  of  the 
Lilandeilo  strata  and  its  interlaminated  beds  of  feldspathic  ash, 
lava,  &c.,  is  due,  not  to  volcanic  force  exerted  during  that 
period,  but  to  volcanic  activity  employed  through  successive 
and  subsequent  epochs.  It  is  very  probable  that  the  shale  itself 
once  covered  the  summits  of  the  Eruptive  Trap  Rocks,  and 
that  by  denudation,  both  marine  and  subaerial,  through.  ^\k 

B  B 


418         KEMINISCENCES  OF  CENTRAL  WALES. 

periods,  the  stratified  rocks  have  been  removed  and  the  igneous 
bosses  and  dykes  laid  bare. 

Some  eight  years  ago,  when  at  Aberystwith  enjoying  the 
invigorating  and  salubrious  air  of  that  famous  watering-place, 
my  daily  perambulations  would  always  convey  me  to  the 
grounds  of  the  old  castle,  where  I  sat  for  hours  together,  gazing 
listlessly  on  the  deep  blue  sea.  One  afternoon  in  particuhu: 
I  remember  well.  My  mornings  were  devoted  to  SiluiriiL,  its 
sections  and  those  furnished  by  the  survey — the  afternoon  to 
the  sea ;  and  whilst  lounging  on  the  grounds  during  one  of 
those  beautiful  autumnal  afternoons,  so  common  years  ago,  but 
now  so  rare,  with  the  sea  breeze  fanning  the  heated  brow,  I  was 
lazily  studying  the  effect  of  oceanic  denudation  and  languidly 
listening  to  old  Neptune  playing  at  marbles  with  the  sliingle 
at  my  feet,  when  the  beautiful  symmetrical  rotundity  of  the 
coast  to  the  south  reminded  me  of  the  great  conformability 
between  it  and  the  line  of  earthquake  action  that  had  uptilted 
the  strata  from  St.  David's  Head,  right  through  Pembrokeshire, 
the  centre  of  Caermarthenshire  (by  Caermarthen,  Llandeilo, 
Llangadock,  and  Llandovery),  the  north-west  of  Breconshire 
(by  Llanwrtyd  and  Builth),  the  south  of  Radnorshire  (by 
Llandrindod  and  Llandegley),  and  finally  culminating  in  the 
Sliper  Stones  of  Shropshire ;  the  strata  throughout  the  whole 
districts  dipping  north-west  or  south-east,  according  to  their 
relative  position  to  the  line  of  earthquake  wave.  A  view  of  the 
hills  around  me  took  me  back  to  that  far  distant  time  when 
their  summits  formed  once  a  plain  of  marine  denudation,  and 
the  ocean,  I  thought,  also  said  that  another  was  being  formed 
at  its  base. 

An  ascent  will  now  be  made  to  one  of  the  heights  found  on 
the  eastern  boundary  of  the  Great  Desert  of  Wales.  The 
nearest  being  AUt-y-Clech,  situated  in  the  parish  of  Llanfi- 
hangel-Bryn-Pabuan,  in  the  hundred  of  Builth,  we  will  proceed 
thither.  Starting  from  head-quarters  we  pass  over  Wenlock 
and  the  blue  purple  Tarannon  shales,  and  note  in  ascending 
the  hill  the  Lower  Llandovery  Rocks,  on  the  summit  of  which 
is  found  the  beautiful  conglomerate,  entirely  composed  <rf 
pebbles,  all  water  worn.  The  shales  and  conglomerates  dis- 
close the  history  of  their  respective  oceans  in  as  plain  language 
as  tongue  can  tell  or  pen  describe.  The  former  speak  of 
tranquil  oceans  and  deap  seas,  the  latter  of  tumultuous  wat^v 
and  heavily  borne  detritus.  From  the  summit,  looking  in  a 
south-easterly  direction,  we  have  the  broad  undulating  valley 
of  Builth,  with  its  sylvan  Wye.  Having  lately  left  its  desert 
home  it  rushes  onward,  as  if  in  haste  to  join  the  mighty  maiB. 
Thither  it  flows  majestically  forward  with  unrufiSed  wave. 
Yonder,  hidden  from  view  by  the  groves  and  covers  tliat 
beautify  its  banks,  we  see  in  silvery  lines  its  sinuous  ooonff 


REMINISCENCES  OF  CENTRAL  WALES.         419 

which  becomes  lost  to  sight ;  and  then,  where  it  rushes  through 
Ludlow  Rocks,  a  short  distance  below  Builth,  from  whence  to 
Llwyswen  it  affords  some  of  the  most  picturesque  views  that 
Wales  can  offer.  On  either  side  of  the  Builth  plain  there  are 
two  transverse  valleys  gliding  into  it, — the  Ithon,  on  our 
immediate  left,  from  the  north-east ;  and  the  classical  Irfon, 
near  Builth,  from  the  south-west.  Just  below  us,  on  our  right, 
there  is  a  small  stream  called  the  Chwefry,  which  empties 
itself  into  the  Irfon,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  town.  Not  far 
from  the  banks  of  this  brook  is  the  parish  church  of  Llanafan- 
fawr,  in  a  most  dilapidated  state,  and  in  which  Divine  Service 
has  not  been  held  for  years.  Griraldus  Cambrensis,  who  appears 
to  have  been  "  capable  of  swallowing  any  amount  of  astounding 
statements,"  provided  the  acts  were  performed  by  the  authorities 
then  in  existence,  says  that  in  the  reign  of  Henry  I.  the  lord 
of  Radnor  Castle,  in  one  of  his  hunting  expeditions,  reached 
this  far-off  spot,  and  without  due  religious  ceremony,  or  any 
**  compunctious  visitings  of  conscience,"  took  refuge  for  the 
night,  he  and  his  hounds,  in  the  sacred  edifice.  The  even- 
song, we  presume,  was  postponed  and  replaced  by  the  baying 
of  dogs  and  the  shouting  of  huntsmen.  Awaking  at  early 
dawn  to  make  due  preparations  for  the  day's  sport,  the  hunts- 
man found  himself  blind  and  his  dogs  mad. 

The  muddy  Ithon — the  bane  of  fishermen  when  storms  run 
wild — rises  in  the  Kerry  Mountains,  between  Radnorshire  and 
Montgomery,  in  rocks  of  the  Ludlow  formation.  It  runs  in  a 
southerly  direction  as  far  as  Penybont,  over  similar  strata.  Its 
affluents  on  the  right  bank  run  over  Lower  Llandovery  Rocks, 
and  on  the  left  over  those  similar  to  the  parent  river.  At 
Penybont  its  southerly  course  is  obstructed  by  the  northern 
extremity  of  the  Caemeddau  and  Gelli  range  of  volcanic  rocks. 
These  mountains  offering  great  resistance  to  denuding  agencies 
through  all  time  since  their  elevation,  have  compelled  the  river 
to  make  a  detour  to  the  right  with  many  sinuosities.  In  this 
westerly  course  it  has  channelled  out  some  fine  gorges  which 
are  graphically  described  in  the  Silurian  System.  Leaving 
these  high,  precipitous  cliffs,  it  again  assumes  its  southerly 
course  by  Llandrindod,  and  finally,  after  meandering  over  the 
mud-form-deposited  Wenlock  shale,  empties  itself  into  the  river 
Wye.  Up  the  Claemwen,  a  tributary  on  the  right,  are  found 
the  remains  of  that  once  famous  ecclesiastical  edifice — Abbey 
Cwm  Hir.  Its  situation  is  particularly  romantic,  and  wonder- 
fully secluded.  It  is  surrounded  by  wooded  hills  of  consider- 
able height  and  grandeur,  where 

*'  The  mountains  that  like  g^nts  stand, 
To  sentinel  enchanted  land." 

From  the  brows  and  summits  of  these  encircling  hills,  the 
shepherds  must,  in  days  of  yore,  oft  have  heard 

"  The  holy  matin's  distant  bum;' 
B  B  2 


420         EEMINISCENCES  OF  CENTBAL  WALES. 

The  remains  of  the  foundation  of  the  principal  building  give  a 
length  of  255  feet  by  73  feet  broad.     There  were  some  other 
detached  buildings.     It  was  founded  by  Cadwaldr  ap  Madoc,  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  I.,  for  the  accommodation  of  six  Cistercian 
monks,  and  was  richly  endowed.     During  the  reign  of  our  last 
and  most  illustrious  Prince  of  Wales,  Llewellyn  ap  (rruffydd,  who 
had  suffered  many  grievances  at  the  hands  of  the  English  and 
their  kings,  the  monks  of  this  Abbey,  together  with   those  of 
the  Cistercian  order  generally,  sided  with  the  Prince  against 
Edward.     The  authorities  issued  excommunication,  and  thun- 
dered   their    extravagant    anathemas,   Sunday  after    Sunday, 
on  the  devoted  head  of  the  brave  patriot.    But  little  he  recked; 
his  country,  its  cause,  and  freedom's  self  were  at  stake,  and  for 
these  he  died.     Though  no  gorgeous  mausoleiun  encircle  his 
grave,  nor  sculptured  marbJe  pyramid  or  granitoidal   obelisk 
declare  his  name  or  tell  forth  his  praise,  Llewellyn  possesses  a 
monument  grander  and  more  durable  than  any  or  all  of  these 
combined.    Wherever  a  Briton's  home  is  found,  there  does  fond 
memory  pourtray  Llewellyn's  greatness,  and  the  cause  for  which 
he  died.     Regarding  the  presence  of  a  monk  in  the  English 
army  when  our  Prince  was  killed,  it  can  reasonably  be  presumed 
that  one  of  the  Cistercians  from  Cwm  Hir,   having   wormed 
himself  into  the  confidence  of  the  English  General,  found  that 
nothing   short  of  the   head   of  the  devoted  Llewellyn  could 
appease    the    unrighteous    indignation    of    England's     King. 
Detennined  to  stand  by  the  Prince  in  the  hour  of  need,  he 
administered  to  Llewellyn  the  last  rites  of  that  Church  which 
had  been  established  in  Britain  long  before  the  Saxons  ever 
planted  a  foot  on  the  soil. 

During  the  time  of  Owain  Glyndwr,  ''  one  not  bom  in  the 
common  roll  of  men,"  troublesome  times  arose  for  the  Abbey.  In 
the  quarrel  between  the  English  King  and  Glyndwr  the 
Cistercian  order  of  monks  sided  with  the  English,  whereas  the 
Franciscans  took  the  part  of  the  Welsh.  When,  therefore, 
Henry  vented  his  spleen  upon  the  latter,  Glyndwr,  in  retaliation, 
despatched  300  of  his  mountaineers  from  his  strongholds  in 
Plynlimmon  to  Abbey  Cwm  Hir.  The  monks  were  massacred 
and  the  edifice  almost  demolished.  An  attempt  was  made  at 
restoration,  but  never  again  did  the  Abbey  regain  its  pristine 
splendour.  In  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  it  was,  with  a  number 
of  other  similar  institutions,  dissolved,  and  since  then  it  has 
been  gradually,  but  surely,  falling  into  utter  ruin.  Some  of 
the  materials  have  been  taken  to  be  used  in  the  erection  of  an 
adjacent  mansion,  and  portions  of  its  internal  embellishments 
have  been  transferred  to  ornament  the  churches  of  Llanidloes 
and  Newtown,  in  Montgomery.  In  the  old  Church  of  Llanidloes, 
eighteen  years  ago,  1  fast  ea.^  tk^TCL^^oi^^^Tit  esvs.tem  window, 
'"hich  had  been  transpoxled  'w\io\e«»\fc  \)caNi}ckfex  \xt^\fiLN(}Gk&  ^^^Sc^^^ 


REMINISCENCES  OF  CENTRAL  WALES.  421 

It  was  to  this  Abbey  that  Henry  II.  marched  his  army  against 
I^lewellyn  ap  lorwerth,  the  husband  of  Joan,  daughter  of  King 
John  of  England. 

**  Change  and  decay  in  all  around  we  bee." 

How  true  in  a  geological  as  well  as  an  ecclesiastical  sense 
are  the  ideas  pictured  in  this  beautiful  line!  The  Poet 
Laureate  had  the  same  ideas  in  view  when  he  penned 

*'  There  rolls  the  deep  where  grew  the  tree, 
O  earth,  what  changes  hast  thou  seen  ! 
There,  where  the  long  street  roars,  hath  been 
The  stillness  of  the  central  sea." 

The  next  point  of  interest  will  be  Cefn  Llys,  where  are  found 
the  remains  of  an  old  Norman  Castle.  It  was  built  by  Ralph 
Mortimer,  lord  of  Moelynaedd,  in  1242  a.  D.  Here  were  held 
those  abominable  courts,  presided  over  by  the  Norman  lords 
who  exercised  uncontrolled  authority  over  the  whole  property 
of  the  country  and  to  whom  the  inhabitants  had  to  give  an 
account  of  their  actions.  It  became  the  property  of  the  Crown 
towards  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  has  since 
fallen  into  decay.  The  situation  of  the  church  is  **  singularly 
beautiful  in  its  well-wooded  and  deep  valley,"  where,  as  SUuria 
says,  "  the  Ithon  emerging  from  this  volcanised  region,  through 
a  narrow  gorge  of  Trap  Rocks,  passes  between  cliflTs  about  forty 
feet  in  height." 

Llandrindod,  the  Montpelier  of  South  Wales,  is  our  next 
halting-place,  and  will  afiord  materials  for  a  lengthy  description. 
It  offers  splendid  head-quarters  to  the  geologist  who  wishes  to 
examine  Eruptive  Trap-lava  beds,  Llandeilo  flags,  &c.  In  close 
proximity  to  the  railway  station  there  is  a  fine  quarry  called 
Wemfawr,  the  rock  of  which  is  a  highly  crystallised  greenstone 
erupted  through  black  schist.  It  is  extensively  worked  for 
building  purposes,  and  as  its  durability  resists  weather 
action  it  is  largely  used  in  the  district.  Some  geologists 
believed  that  because  of  the  close  proximity  of  this  Eruptive 
Trap  Rock  to  the  Llandeilo  shale  all  animal  remains 
had  been  obliterated  by  the  great  heat  which  the 
schist  had  endured.  This,  however,  was  wrong,  for  the 
writer  of  this  paper  found,  before  he  heard  such  ideas 
promulgated,  the  characteristic  fossils  of  the  Llandeilo  shale  in 
this  same  quarry  to  the  west  of  the  Greenstone.  At  a  meeting  of 
the  Woolhope  Club  in  the  year  1867,  at  Graig-pwU-ddu  water- 
fell,  the  writer  distributed  amongst  the  members  specimens  of 
Ogygia BtLchiijCalymene  duplicatay  and  Trianttcleua  Jindyria^ 
tii8  found  in  the  Llanfewr  Quarry.  These  and  other  fossils 
may  be  had  in  fair  abundance  throughout  the  district,  wherever 
the  rock  can  be  found  in  situ ;  but  they  are  not  nearly  so 
prolific  here  as  around  Builth.  And  now  about  the  springs* 
Whence  derive  they  their  mineral  qualities  ?  The  vulgar  notion 


422  KEAIINISCENCES  OF  CENTKAL  WALES. 

connected  them  with  vast  beds  of  salt  which  were  covered  bj'  the 
overlying  strata,  and  it  was  thought  that  by  the  percolation  of 
water  through  the  strata  the  salt  was  dissolved,  and  thus  the 
water   becoming  charged   with  this  ingredient,  and  finding  a 
vent,    rose    to  the    surface    in  the    shape    of    briny   springs. 
But  the  philcsojihical  explanation  of  the  matter  seems  to  be 
that  at  the  peri*xl  of  the  deposition  of  the  Llandeilo  schist,  when 
contemporaneous   ejections   of  successive   streams  of  lava  and 
falls  of  ash  took  place,  the  waters  of  the  ocean  became  so  heated 
that    an    extensive    amount     of    evaporation  ensued,    and    a 
consequent  dejiosition  of  the  mineral  ingredients  held  formerly 
by  the  ocean  in   solution.     This  deposition  taking  place  during 
the  flow  and  the  fall,  would  become  so  intermingled   with    the 
materials  of  both  as  to  cause  them  to  lose  their  identification, 
individually,  and  so  become  part  and  parcel  of  the  igneous  rock. 
Water  falling  through  the  atmosphere  in  the  shape  of  rain, 
becomes  charged  with  carbonic  acid  gas,  and,  percolating  through 
these  rocks,  dissolves  their  mineral  ingredients.     Kising  to  the 
surface  in  the  shape  of  wells,  it  furnishes  that  beverage  which 
cures  "  all  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to."     These  beds  of  Llandeilo 
flags  and  lava  are  so  very  extensive,  that  the  supply  of  such 
drinkables   is  furnished  from  an   inexhaustible  reservoir.     The 
Kev.  W.  »S.  Symonds,  in  his  Recoi^d  of  the  Rocks,  says  that  the 
mineral  waters  of  Llandrindod,  Builth  and  Llanwrtyd,  "are  the 
result  of  the  contact   of  a  Trap  dyke  traversing  black  slates  of 
the  Llandeilo  strata,  which  at  the  point  of  contact  are  highly 
charged  with   crystals  of  iron  pyrites.     Decomposition  of  the 
pyrites  by  the  i)ercolation  of  water  is  continually  going  on ;  other 
sulphates,  chlorides  and   sulphurets  furnish  their  quantum,  thf^ 
result  being  about  as  distasteful  a   beverage   as   can  well  be 
imagined."     Such  is  the  origin  of  the  sulphur  and  chalybeate 
springs  found  at  the  three  inland  watering-places  of  South  Wales. 
The  mineral  ingredients  held   in    solution  vary  much  in  their 
projiortions  at  all  three  situations.     Special  attention   will  be 
given  to  this  point   when  we  have  finished  with  the  geological 
features  of  the  respective  localities. 

On  the  glorious  old  Llandrindod  Common  is  found,  on  the  left 
hand  side  of  the  road  leading  to  Builth,  a  particularly  large 
conglomerate  boulder.  It  has  a  significant  title,  "  The  Devil's 
Pebble,"  which  must  have  been  given  to  it  at  a  time  when 
orthodox  opinions  could  not  have  been  firmly  rooted  in  the  mind 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  district.  The  old  legend  has  it,  that 
in  his  wanderings,  "seeking  whom  he  may  devour,''  his 
majesty  stopped  on  this  common  to  take  rest,  and  to  remove  a 
small  pebble  that  had  got  into  his  shoe.  The  article  being 
taken  off,  out  of  it  was  shaken  this  huge  conglomerate,  which, 
before  it  was  partly  broken  up  to  macadamize  the  road,  could 
not  have  weighed  less  than  "  two  hundred  tons."    Be  thiB  as  it 


r:  REMINISCENCES  OF  CENTRAL  WALES.  42a 

.J  may,  geologists  for  a  long  time  looked  upon  tliis  old  boulder  as 
i|  having  been  transported  from  Denbighshire  to  its  present  resting 
i  place  by  icebergs,  during  the  glacial  epoch.  In  fact, 
3  geological  papers  have  been  read,  and  addresses  delivered  at  this 
^  «ix)t,when  special  reference  was  made  to  the  glacial  epoch,  and  this 
„  old  conglomerate  adduced  as  a  proof  of  the  great  transjx)rting 
^  power  of  icebergs.  When  I  heard  the  idea  first  declared,  I 
J  received  it  with  great  mistrust,  for  ray  eyes  told  me  that  they 
J  had  seen,  somewhere  in  the  district,  rocks  in  situ  very  similar 
g  in  structure  to  this  one.  However,  I  held  my  peace  till  a  more 
J  convenient  season,  which  soon  came.  I  had  chipped  oft" 
specimens  from  the  summits  of  Dolefan,  to  the  w^est  of  New- 
bridge-on-Wye,  and  Allt-y-Clech,  in  Breconshire,  which  I 
brought  and  compared  with  this  conglomerate,  and  I  found  that 
they  were  as  much  alike  as  two  peas.  Although  this  old 
boulder  has  dispossessed  us  of  the  idea  that  icebergs  during  the 
glacial  epoch  sailed  over  the  land,  yet  it  reminds  us  that 
glaciers  and  fields  of  ice  once  covered  our  valleys  and  plains,  and 
furnishes  a  striking  illustration  of  their  great  moving  power. 
Numerous  boulders  of  the  same  lithological  character  are 
Hcattered  over  the  common,  but  all  are  of  inferior  dimensions. 
The  glaciers  of  this  period  will  receive  their  proper  attention  in 
our  next  piper,  as  will  also  other  prominent  geological  features 
and  historical  facts  connected  with  Llandrindod  Wells. 

Bnilth.  D.  Griffiths. 


f 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  ENGLISH  PEOPLE. 


A  .SKETCH,  HISTt jRICAL  AXD  RHAPSODICAL^ 


"  KatIj  m  eh*  f ooztecsDth  centarr.  the  amaltEBmadoa  of  the  ncef  was  already 
ncarl J  eunplHed  ;  and  it  wa*  «cma  made  manxfeit.  by  agns  not  to  be  mwitaVfii. 
that  a  p^nple  mf erior  to  ib>ne  exirtzB^  in  the  w«3rid  had  been  fonned  by  the 
mixtare  of  the  three  braachea  of  the  i^reat  T«Kitoosc  fuoily  with  each  other,  and 
with  the  criginal  Brstooa.  .  .  .  Then  wa»  formed  that  lanpagr,  leaf  miuacal, 
indeed,  than  the  langnagei  of  the  MOth.  but  in  f^cce.  in  rirhiwi.  in  aptitode  fnr 
all  the  hig^beat  parpoaea  of  the  poet,  the  phfloaopher,  and  the  orator,  inferior  ti> 
the  t/yngoe  of  Greece  aloae." — LoBO  M&caulat. 


AX  ODE  TO  OUR  GBEAT  GRANDFATHERS. 

Bat  hold : 
That  style  is  now  too  trite  and  cold : 
Nothing  is  anything  with  modem  wit^ 
That  does  not  bristle  thick  with  pons,  and  pokes,  and  hits ; 
Therefore  well  write  this  thus,  my  yonng  quid  nundes: 

A  NOD  TO  OUR  (^TILSH)  AUXT-SISTERS  AND  (DUTCH) 

UNCLES : 

**  Oh,  De*er  fchoold  we  forget  tmr — poor  relationa." 

OM  S*Mff,  with  (trilling)  Taiiatiow 

PROLOGUE. 

How  came  onr  glorious  (hotch  potch)  English  tongue  about. 
All  ye  have  heard  it  said  (or  sneered)  or  sung  about : 
How  Welsh,  and  Latin,  Danish,  Dutch,  and  French  were  spliced 

and  mixed  up. 
Until,  at  length,  our  noble  (mongrel)  mother-tongue  was  fixed 
up. 
Tis  true  as  t'other  that  our  (tip-top)  British  blood — 
Extolled  by  Jinkins  as  an  ^ azure  flood" — (that  is^  the  ''true 
blue  blood") 
Like  the  aforesaid,  ere  it  became  a  "  fixture," 
Imbibed,  berides^  an  Lish  and  "  Scotch  mixture." 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  ENGLISH  PEOPLE.        425 

Sirs,  may  it  please  (or  tease)  you,  it  shall  here  be  scribbled 
Whence  the  rude  forefathers  of  your  country  dribbled. 
Belike  'twill  help  you  in  some  practical  way 
Better  to  be  (and  brook)  the  nobler  Briton  of  our  day. 
Then,  whether  you  have  heard  or  never   heard   the   (rather 

elderly)  preliminary  assertion, 
Listen,   my  masters,  to    the    present    (particularly   modem) 
version. 

An  Ethnological  and  Quizzical  Ode-ditty:    after  Collins 

(very  coiisiderably). 

When  English  (lusty  lout)  was  young, 

Whilst  yet  in  early  Britain  sung,* 

His  uncles  oft,  to  hear  him  spell. 

Thronged  around  his  (school-board)  cell, 

Stammering,  spluttering,  mouthing,  snorting, 

Perplex'd  beyond  shorthand  reporting : 
(For  in  "  mixed  marriages  "  they  were  quite  far  gone, 
And  did  their  courting  in  a  horrid  Anglo-Celtic-Saxon-Norman 

jargon.) 

By  turns  they  felt — not  double-tongued, 

But  cribbed,  confounded,  cabined,  bunged! 

Till  once,  'tis  said,  when  all  were  "  queer," 

Filled  with  metheglin,  mead,  and  beer, 

Each  (for  Babel  ruled  the  day) 

Would  say  his  own  expressive  say. 

First,  GuRTH  (a  regular  right-Angle)  his  tongue  its  skill  to  try. 

Some  uncouth  words  bewildered  said, 
Then  backward  reeled,  he  knew  not  why. 

Even  at  the  sounds  himself  had  made. 

Gurth. 

I  stand — ^hic — stand ;  I  serve ;  I  do ; 
I  bring ;  I  bear ;  I  get ;  I  go ; 
I  dig — hie— dig ;  and  I  submit ; 
I  love  good  beef — I  like  not  wit ! 

When  Gl^th  had  said  all  he  was  able,  he  disappeared  beneath 
the  table. 
But  GuRTH  begat  some  lusty  bumpkins. 
Whose  modem  names  are  Hodge,  and  Snooks,  and  Lump- 
kins. 

Next  Shenkin  rushed,  his  heart  on  fire ; 
(In  Cymraeg  owned  his  secret  stings). 
In  rash,  harsh  words  he  showed  his  ire, 
And  said  some  rather  bitter  things. 

*  Ahem — ^whistled. 


421)      THE  ORIOrX  OF  THE   ENGLISH  PEOPLE. 

Shenkin. 

Can  you  tell  iiio  o(  your  pedigrcf'  when  King  Arthur  had  the 

thi\me  ? 
This  land,  you  see,  belongs  to  me  from  ages  past,  ere  you  were 

known. 
I  deny  you  ;  I  defy  you  I      Indeed,   I  don't   consent   jou  shall 

remain. 
My  language  is  the  best  one  out ;  and  I  take  this   op]K)rt unity 

of  telling  you  the  siune. 
I  shall  show  you  I  can  sinike;  therefore  hear  the   truth  from 

me. 
I  can  fmme  a  lovely  ditty,  and  call  spirits  from  the  sea. 

**  Of  a  noble  race  w*as  SiiknkinI''  and  though  he  thus  could 

$])eak, 
He  soon  retired  contented,  and  meekly  ate  his  leek  ; 
And  his  sons  still  meekly  eat  them,  though  their  wrongs  they 

vstill  must  tell  'e. 
From  CarditVto  Carmarthen,  from  Ruabon  to  Kidwelly. 

Hut  thou,  0  Hritish  maid — (though  Roman  child) — 

What  was  thy  correct  proceeding  ? 

Still  it  showed  thy  gentle  breeding; 
For,  oil,  our  English  girls  were  then,  as  now, 
Tlu»  prettiest-mannercnl  maids  that  ever  cracked  a  croquet  ball, 
or  s(»w(»(l  a  button  on,  or  milked  a  cow  I 

Still  wouUl  luT  tongue  their  ears  beguile; 

Twas  purest  Knglisli  still  in  all  her  style  ; 

And  where  her  sweetest  themes  she  chose 

Tlu»  softest  vowel  sounds  were  heard  at  every  close; 

And  the  iVIaid  enchanting  shook  her  curls  and  smilecl. 

The  MatiL 

High  Wassail,  gentlemen  !  with  amicability  admit  me; 
To  amelioratt^  your  jargon  i)ray  you  now  permit  me. 
Conclude   your   lingual   logomachy ;    stiirt   a   British    "  happy 
family,*' 
And  be  faithful  fellows  found. 
And  let  TS^*eedledum  and  Tweedledee — that  is,  the  Celtic  he  and 
Saxons  he. 
Now  check  their  chaff  I  charge. 
Each  yielding  "  yeoman  service  "  to  Society  at  large. 
Be  united — (get  you  married) — petty  petulance  excuse     "  pop 
the  question  "  with  those  views. 
And  join  hands  and  hearts  around. 

And  longer  had  she  si)oke — but,  with  a  frown, 

Le  Norman,  vexed,  arose. 
lie  threw  his  blood-stained  avioid  m  Wixrwi^T  do^w  % 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THP]  EXGLISH  PEOPLE.       427 

Aud,  with  "  hardy  Norseman  "  shouts, 

111  a  lofty  vein  he  spouts  ; 
And  says  his  say  in  such  a  lordly  way 
That  his  right  to  rule  the  land  he  very  plainly  shows. 

Le  Norman. 

J  determine,  I  direct,  and  I  command ; 

I  assert  and  I  assume,  and  I  demand  ; 

I  decree  and  I  declare,  and  I  measure  out  and  share. 

My  honours  and  my  "  orders,"  my  offices,  my  gold, 

I  divide  with  those  that  follow  me — the  burly  aud  the  bold  T 

And  still  he  kept  his  high  and  haughty  tone  ; 
And  there  was  no  Attorney-General  to  snub  that  "  Claimant "  of 
the  British  throne ! 

So  he  sub-let  England  to  his  train  of  grand  lords. 
To   whose  legatees  we  "koo-too"  still,  as  our  great  ground 
landlords. 

With  eyes  askant,  like  Snooks  inspired, 

Macgilliecuddie  sat  retired — 

(Like  "  Marian  in  the  moated  grange ;" ) 

And  from  his  auld  sequestered  Reekie, 

In  notes  by  distance  made  more  squeaky, 

Droned  through  a  bag  o'  pipes  his  accents  strange. 

Macgilliecuddie. 

An'  noo,  I  am  alon',  I  see,  an'  in  the  moonshaine  of  my  solitary 

walk 
It  becomes  me  to  be  considerate,  an'  with  a  mon  of  sense  (that's 

'iiie)  to  talk ; 
An'  so  thenk  I,  as  always  I  have  thought,  an'  which  naebody 

can  deny ; 
'Hieise  Southrons  need  not  bother  so — "north"  of  them  all 

am  I. 
I'm  joost  a  joodge.     I,  that  observe  an'  listen ; 
I,  that  "  remember  to  recollect,"  an'  remark,  an'  repeat : 
Noo,  if  there's  onybody  that  way  inclined,  let  them  try  the 

conclusions  and  compete. 
liOt  them    examine  the    fac's    an'  the  feegures,  an'  see  the 

connection  an'  consequence, 
Take   a  7*eview   of  the    evidence    and    show    their   shuperior 

intelligence. 

Macgillie  slaked  his  toddy  drouth. 

Then  set  his  face  discreetly  "  south  " ! 
But,  oh,  how  altered  was  the  sprightlier  talk. 
When  Flannagan,  an  Emeralder  of  liveliest  IvM^, 

His  coat  across  his  shoulders  flimg. 


428       THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  ENGLISH  PEOPLE. 

His  brogans  gemmed  with  morning  dew. 

Told  his  inspiring  tale,  that  bog  and  thicket  rung 

St.  Patrick's  praise,  and  spoke  of  Donnybrook ! 

O^Flanagan. 

An'  shure  now,  what  is  it  you'd  be  after  addressin'  meself  upon. 
Before  I  c'u'd  answer  a  soun'  to  the  murtherin'  oaf  that's  gone. 
An'  between  our  two  silves,  it's  a  capital  cause  for  a  quarrel  I 

take  it. 
So  declare  your  intintion,  bad  luck  to  it ;   and  if  you  contind 

there's  "  obstruction  "  debate  it. 
rU  give  you  example  to  back  it,  enough  to  confirm  such  a 

blatherin'  elf. 
Here's  an  individual  has  got  an  idee,  though  I  say  it  that 

shouldn't — that's  meeself. 
There  was  niver  a  nation  so  noble  as  mine  to  the  fore — 
Though  I  name  it  that  needn't;   bedad,  it's  ould  Ireland, 
astore. 
So  I  take  the  occasion,  and  bould   opportunity  to  oflFer   my 

services  to  all  the  community. 
An' if  you  propose  to  go  in  for  a  ^drain*  by  the  powers   I'm 

niver  the  bhoy  to  complain. 

Flanagan f  excitable  and  frisky,  sought  once  again  his  much- 
loved  whisky ; 

Then  foimd  repose  beneath  the  statue 
Of  an  early  Irish  Father  JIatchew  ! 

I^ast  came  John  Bull's  triumphal  summons : 
He,  with  triple  crown  a-glistening. 
First  to  the  House  of  Lords  his  words  addressed. 
But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  Commons, 
Whose  shrewd  enlightened  looks  he  liked  the  best. 
They  would  have  thought,  who  heard  him  speaking. 
They  sat  in  Utopia's  hall,  at  a  monster  meeting. 
To  some  Gladstonian  lecturer  listening. 
And  whilst  his  lusty  language  filled  the  world 

Britannic  commerce  blushed  in  blooming  health ; 
(Loose  were  her  trammels  seen,  her  flag  unfurled) 
Whilst  John,  in  his  own  hearty  way. 
As  if  he  would  the  waiting  world  rei)ay. 
Shook  thousand  blessings  from  his  bags  of  wealth ! 

Mr.  BvU  (gazinfi^  with  a  ^^  gimlet  eye  "  into  the  oratorical 
persp^ive) — 

Tell  me—  ye  mighty  masters — 
Spokesmen  and  orators  of  England — 
Whence  comes  the  magic  of  those  stately  syllables 
Wherewith  ye  move  the  world  ? 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  ENGLISH  PEOPLE.       42^ 

How  do  ye  win  so  fleet  obedience  from  those  lingual  ministers 

That  wait  on  mortal  thoughts  ? 
Know  ye  the  roll-call  of  their  numbered  cohorts  ? 
Is  their  name  legion  ?     Are  they  million-fold  ? 
Has  mortal  dared  to  count  and  catalogue  your  vocal  messengers^ 

And  told  their  total  ? 
Good  sooth  !  their  modest  numbers  stultifies  belief? 
Not  in  their  viultitudeSj  but  in  their  combinations  lives  their 
eloquence. 

Tis  "  art  to  form,"  'tis  "  counsel  to  conduct," 
Illumes  their  meanings,  and  defines  their  powers. 
That  art  is  yours,  ye  bands  of  senators — ^ye  guards  of  liberty  I 
Free  TiiouGnx!    Free  Speech!   Free  Press!    Free  Trade!. 
are  yours ! 

Bristol.  William  Mathews  (Ap  Mathew). 


PLOUGHING  mm  OXEN  IX  GLAMORGAN. 


II. 

The  metre  or  measure  which  the  oxen  seemed  to  like  best 
*wa8  THban  Cyrch^or  more  commonly  called,  Triban  Morgamvg. 
As  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  there  was  not  in  any 
part  of  Wales  anything  so  systematic  with  regard  to  ox-driving 
as  in  "  Gweiit  and  Morgamvg^  "It  was  customary  to  sing  to 
the  oxen  in  Brecknock,  Caermarthen,  and  other  counties  besides ; 
but  it  does  not  appear  that  there  was  any  set  measure.  In 
<ilamorgan  the  metre  was  invariably  the  ancient  Triban^  and 
the  old  airs  which  were  sung  over  the  broad  corn-fields  of 
Morganwg  have,  according  to  Edward  Williams  (/oio  Morgamvg)  j 
been  brought  down  to  us  from  the  time  of  the  Romans.  Mr. 
John  Parry  {Bardd  Alaw\  who  may  be  considered  one  of  the 
highest  authorities  on  Welsh  airs,  wrote  of  the  Glamorgan 
Plough  Boy  Songs  as  follows : — "  These  songs  bear  evident 
marks  of  their  antiquity,  for  as  they  appear  on  paper  there  is 
neither  rhyme  nor  reason  in  them ;  but  like  the  Swiss  Banz  des 
Vachea^  when  sung  by  the  natives,  there  is  a  characteristic 
wildness,  blended  with  sweetness  and  intensity  of  feeling,  that 
touches  the  heart." 

It  is  sad  to  think  that  there  are  but  few,  indeed,  of  these 
fincient  airs  preserved.  Miss  Williams,  of  Aberpergwm,  in  her 
excellent  collection  of  Welsh  airs,  has  one  good  specimen. 
Another  may  be  seen  in  Seven  Oomer,  for  July,  1823,  sent  to 
that  good  old  publication  by  a  gentleman  who  was  travelling 
through  the  vale  in  the  spring  of  that  year ;  and  who  was  so 
delighted  by  the  singing  of  the  swains  whilst  engaged  in 
ploughing  across  the  surrounding  corn-fields  that  he  paused  to 
listen  to  them,  and  noted  down  the  tune  they  so  feelingly  sang. 
This  air  was  sent  to  Dr.  Crotch,  who  was  at  that  time  Principal 
of  the  Boyal  Academy  of  Music.  He  also  was  so  pleased  with  it 
that  he  harmonised  it,  and  it  may  be  seen  as  arranged  by  him  in 
Vol.  III.  of  The  Tra7i8acti(yii6  of  the  Cymmrodoriony  and  also  in 
Mr.  J.  Parry's  Welsh  Harper,  Vol.  I.,  page  140.  Mr.  Ptory  has 
another  in  the  same  volume,  from  Mr.  Anenrin  Owen's  coUeotioii 
•of  unpublished  Welsh  airs,  which  gained  a  prize  at  the  Brecon 


PLOUGHING  WITH  OXEN  IN  GLAMORGAN.     431 


Eisteddfod  in  the  year  1826.  It  is  very  probable  that  the  one 
which  appeared  in  the  Bed  Dragon  in  the  interesting  article 
'^  About  Llantwit  Major,"  contributed  by  Mr.  T.  H.  Thomas, 
belongs  to  the  same  family,  but  by  some  mistake  or  other  it  has 
been  amalgamated  with  a  poilion  of  an  old  nursery  rhyme, 
which  is  as  follows  : — 

**Pan  o'wn  i'n  myn'd  t'a'r  ysgol 
A'm  llyfr  yn  fy'm  Uaw, — 
Heibio'r  Castell  Newydd, 
AV  cl<)c  yn  taro  naw ; 

Mali,  Mali,  cwjm,  mae  heddjrw'n  foreii  mwyn  ; 
Mae'r  adar  bach  yn  tiicn*}  a'r  Gwcw  yn  y  llwyn." 

This  air  ought  apparently  to  be  so  arranged  as  to  suit  the  old 
Mesur  Triban. 

In  addition  to  the  one  picked  up  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
IJangynwyd,  which  appeared  in  the  Red  Dragon  for  February, 
I  have  been  favoured  by  my  worthy  friend,  Mr.  J.  Howells,  of 
St.  Athan,  with  another.     It  is  as  follows: — 


^S^JmrOjs 


fmiwti  miM,   n£i  \f^UM  BjMe  y 


Subjoined  is  another  sent  me  by  Mr.  Tom  Williams,  of  Ponty- 
pridd, which  he  learned  from  his  father,  and  which  was  sung  to 
the  oxen  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Glynogwr : — 


trifk  M0  wit,  mndZmniwits 


J  jl  J   J 


Jf^ 


Sp' 


In  Cyfrinach  y  Beirdd  (which  is  the  best  authority  on  the 
Glamorganshire  Metres)  we  are  informed  that  the  Triban  had 
been  from  a  remote  period  one  of  the  recognised  metres  of  the 
*'  Bardic  Chair  of  Glamorgan,"  but  was  rejected  by  the  Chairs 
of  Gwynedd,  Powys  and  Dyfed  up  to  a  recent  date.  It  was 
restored  to  its  proper  place  in  1819,  at  the  Carmarthen 
Eisteddfod.  It  would  be  trespassing  on  your  valuable  space  to 
quote  from  Cyfrinach  y  Beirddy  but  another  eminent  authority 
is  at  hand,  possessed  of — 

**  Am  great  a  soul  a^  ever 
Warmed  a  Welahman's  breast.*' 

By  the  courtesy  of  a  friend  who  has  made  himself  acquainted 


I. 


432    PLOUGHING  WITH  OXEX  IN  GLAMORGAN. 

with  the  treasures  of  the  British  Museum,  I  am  able  to  prodaa 
the  foUowing  extract  from  a  letter  of  Mr.  Lewys  Moms,  relatiiij 
to  the  Hen  Driban  Morgamvg : — 

Aberdovey,  Dec:  lOth,  1754. 
Worthy  Sir, — The  other  day  a  very  odd  accident  happened  to  me,  juid  it  L- 
whnt  may  in  all  probability  happen  to  you.  I  could  not  help  prefiaring  joii 
agahiHt  that  critical  minute,  which  came  ujx>n  me  without  notice.  It  is  this.  I 
hiul  a  daughter  that  was  married  in  Montgomeryshire,  and  who,  according  to  the 
oourHt«  of  nature,  brought  me  a  grandson  ;  the  news  of  which  was  so  odd  to  me 
that  the  A  wcn^  encouraged  by  a  gtxxi  b<^wl  of  punch,  fell  to  work,  and  made  an 
ontire  new  piece  of  it  I  hate  to  beat  in  old  paths  up  to  my  knees  in  dirt.  I 
received  Melinifthl  Meirion ;  this  is  a  setjuel  to  it,  and  what  will  faU  to  your  share 
AS  well  as  myself. 

The  measurt)  may  l>e  looked  on  as  a  loose  incoherent  Triban — too  common  a 
nieasurt*  for  any  giHHl  piK^try  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  to  be  as  ancient  as  Engiyn 
3/i7in*— the  most  ancient  British  verso — or  perhaps  any  other  in  the  world.  In 
this  kind  of  triplet,  which  was  one  of  eight  syllables,  the  Song  called  the  **  Book 
of  Job"  was  written,  which  is  Hup|H)sed  to  be  one  of  Solomon's  ;  and  that  all  our 
I  ancient  British  jM>etry  was  in  the  same  kind  of  stanzas,  and  written  in  the  heroic 

'  wav  I  make  no  manner  of  doubt,  nay,  I  am  certain  of  it.     They  were  caUed 

'  TVifHinaii,    So  every  ctnmtry  hius  its  peculiar  tune  to  which  these  verses  were  sun;;^ 

as  Trihan  Meinonyth^  TViftan  Motyamcf/t  Triban  Oicyr  Owentf  &c.     The  right  way 
;  of  writing  a  j)ennill  Tril>an  is  tliis, — in  three  lines  or  bars,  and  not  in  four,  as 

I  usual :  — 

1  *'  Roetld  hon  yn  felin  wisgi, 

;  Yn  troi  &  dwr  o  tani, 

j  A'i  dwy  ol)enydd  a'i  phont  br6s,  yr  (►edd  hi'n  lafnes  lystL" 

Our  ancients  wrote  their  Eivjlyn  Milicr  thus  : — 

•'  Fv  newis  bethau  er  vn  was, 
Merch  i  estron  a  march  glas, 
A  heddyw  nid  }Ti't  gyfaddas." 

Uyivarch  llh\  (a  Northern  Prince). 

When  poetry  and  music  came  to  bo  act^uainted,  the  last  line,  for  the  sake  of 
variety  in  the  sounds  of  the  music,  followed  it,  extending  itself  in  a  kind  of 
variation,  which  nature  is  very  fond  of,  and  the  Englyn  Milicr  was  before  reallv  a 
Trihan ;  yet  by  the  gi-avity  and  imiformity  was  called  an  Heroic  Eivjly^t^  i.e., 
Enylyn  Mihvr^  which  is  the  true  meaning  of  the  expression  "  Heroic  Poetrj'.*'  But 
when  extended  to  follow  the  music  it  was  called  IVibaUf  and  you'll  see  how  easily 
the  Enylyn  Milvcr  glides  into  a  Triban : — 

**  Fy  newis  bethau  er  ^-n  wAs, 
Merch  i  estron  a  march  glas, 
A  heddyw'n  wir  fe  ddarfu'm  nwy' 
Nid  ydynt  hwy  gyfaddas." 

In  this  there  is  a  kind  of  middle  rh3rme,  which  agrees  extremely  well  with  the 
vanatitms  of  the  sounds  in  music,  and  a  luxuriousness  in  the  expression  as  well  as 
the  sound.  So  in  effect  the  ancient  Em/lyn  Milicr  is  the  same  with  the  TVUmn, 
and  you  will  see  it  is  not  such  a  mean  thing  as  i>eople  that  know  no  better  would 
have  it  to  be. 

To  William  Vaughan,  Esq.  Lkwys  MoBua. 

It  might  be  inferred  also  that  this  metre,  in  it^  ancient  form, 
was  in  habitual  use  among  the  bards  of  Glamorgan,  at  the  time 
when  Robert  Duke  of  Normandy  was  a  prisoner  at  Cardiff  Castle. 
There  he  was  detained  for  upwards  of  twenty-eight  years, 
during  which  period  he  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  Welsh 


PLOUGHING  WITH  OXEN  IN  GLAMORGAN.    433 

language ;  and  seeing  the  Welsh  bards  there  on  the  festivals, 
he  grew  partial  to  them  and  became  a  bard,  and  composed  the 
following  stanzas : — 

ROBERT  DUKE  OF  NORMANDY'S  LAMENT.* 

''Dftr  a  dyfwyg  ar  y  clawdd, 
Gwedi  gwaedfFreu  gwedi  ffrawdd, 
Gwae  wrth  win  ymtiin  ymtrawdd. 

Dftr  a  dyfwyg  a'r  y  glAs, 
Gwedi  gwaedfiFreu  gwyr  a  lAs  :-^ 
Gwae  wr  wrth  y  bo  a'i  cfta ! 

Dftr  a  dyfwyg  ar  y  tonn, 

Gwedi  gwaedffreu  a  briw  bronn : — 

Gwae  wr  wrth  ei  gageion ! 

D&r  a  dyfwyg  y'm  meUlion, 

A  chan  a'i  briw  ni  bu  gronn  : — 

Gwae  a  gar  gwydd  ymryscn ! 

Dftr  a  dyfwyg  ar  dir  penn, 
Gallt,  ger  ymdon  Mor  Hafren : — 
Gwae  wr  na  bai  digon  hen  ! 


DAr  a  dyfwyg  yngwynen, 

A  thwrf  a  thrin  a  thraagau : — 

Gwae  a  wyl  na  bo  angaa !" 


A  tnwrt  a  tnrin  a  tnraagi 
Gwae  a  wyl  na  bo  angaa 

[Taliegin  Ab  lolo'g  Tranglation] 


"Oak  that  grew  on  battle  mound, 
Where  crimgon  torrentg  drenched  the  flpround  : — 
Woe  waitg  the  maddening  broilg  where  gparlding  wine  goeg  round  I 

Oak  that  grew  on  verdant  plain, 

Where  gugh'd  the  blood  of  warriors  slain : — 

The  wretch  in  hatred'g  grasp  may  well  of  woes  complain  ! 

Oak  that  grew  in  verdure  strong, 

After  bloodghed'g  direful  wrong : — 

Woe  waitg  the  wretch  who  sits  Uie  sons  of  strife  among  ! 

Oak  that  grew  on  greensward  bourn, 

Its  once  fair  branches  tempest  torn  : — 

Whom  envy's  hate  pursues  shall  long  in  anguish  mourn  ! 

•  Oak  that  grew  on  wood-cliff  high. 
Where  Severn's  waveg  to  winds  reply: — 
Woe  waits  the  wretch  whose  years  tell  not  that  death  is  nigh  ! 

Oak  that  grew  through  years  of  woes, 

Mid  battle  broil's  imequalled  throes: — 

Forlorn  is  he  who  prays  that  death  his  life  may  close  !" 

When  poetry  and  music,  as  Mr.  Moms  observes,  came  to  be 
conjoined,  the  Tribanau  were  written  as  they  were  sung ;  and 
the  last  syllable  in  the  third  line,  called  gair  cyrchy  rhymed 
with  another  syllable  (generally  the  fourth)  in  the  fourth  line* 

*  The  peculiarity  of  the  poem  and  metre  certainly  appertain  to  an  early  age] 
and  it  is  quite  in  the  dialect  and  idiom  of  Glamorgan. — IWiettn  ^6  lido, 

C  C 


434    PLOUGHING  WITH  OXEN  IN  GLAIilORGAN. 

An  example  given  in  Cyfrinach  y  Beirdd^  of  a  Triban  in  \\s 
modem  style,  is  as  follows : — 

"Anhyfryd  beth  yw  methn, 
A  ffwyl  ar  ddyn  yw  ffaela ; 
Ni  wel  fwynder  glwyiber  gUn, 
Nag  unawr  g&n  a  gpveno.** 

To  jndge  between  lolo  Morganwg  and  Llewelyn  Ddu  o  Fon, — 
cewri  yn  mhlitk  corachod^ — as  to  whether  the  modem  triplet 
should  be  written  in  three  or  four  lines  is  a  delicate  matter. 
Could  a  collection  of  the  old  Tribanau^  as  they  are  spoken  by 
the  peasantry  in  Glamorganshire,  be  published,  no  better  source 
could  be  found  whence  stores  of  the  dialect  of  Gwent  and 
Morganwg  may  be  obtained  ;  and  should  the  Philological  Com- 
mittee appointed  by  the  Cymmrodorion  Society  in  London  desire 
it,  the  whole  of  my  collection,  containing  nearly  five  hundred 
real  Hin  Dribanauj  is  heartily  at  their  service. 

Llangynwyd.  T.  C.  Eyases. 


WELSH  POETRY  IN  ENGLISH  DBESS. 


MAY! 


By  Davydd  ap  Gwilym. 
14,ih  Century. 

Translated  by  Johnes. 

Many  a  poet  in  his  lay 
Told  me  May  would  come  again  ; 
Truly  sang  the  bards,— -for  May 
Yesterday  began  to  reign ! 
She  is  like  a  bounteous  lord, 
Gold  enough  she  gives  to  me; 
Gold — such  as  we  poets  hoard — 
"  Florins  "  of  the  mead  and  tree, 
Hazel  flowers  and  "  fleur-de-lis." 
Underneath  her  leafy  wings, 
I  am  safe  from  treason's  stings : 
I  am  full  of  wrath  with  May 
That  she  will  not  always  stay. 
Maidens  never  hear  of  love. 
But  when  she  has  plumed  the  grove. 
Giver  of  the  gift  of  song 
To  the  poet's  heart  and  tongue. 
May !  majestic  child  of  heaven. 
To  the  earth  in  glory  given ! 
Verdant  hills,  days  long  and  clear, 
Come  when  she  is  hovering  near. 
Stars,  ye  cannot  journey  on 
Joyously  when  she  is  gone ! 
Ye  are  not  so  glossy  bright. 
Blackbirds,  when  she  takes  her  flight. 
Sweetest  art  thou,  nightingale; 
Poet,  thou  canst  tell  thy  tale 
With  a  lighter  heart,  when  May 
Bules  with  all  her  bright  array. 


C  C  2 


THE  LATE  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF. 


IN   MEMORIAM. 


On  the  one  hand,  "Pax  Intrantibvs " :  on  the  other,  "Salvs 
ExEVNTlBVS."  Such  are  the  brief,  but  striking,  words  that 
greet  the  eye  of  him  who  passes  beneath  the  broad  and 
friendly-looking  portal  of  Bishop's  Court,  LlandaflF.  How 
beautiful  they  are  in  their  simplicity!  and  is  there  not  an 
indefinable  savour  of  antiquity  about  them  that  tends  to 
harmonise  the  modem  house,  with  its  peaceful  sweep  of  green 
sward,  shadowed  over  by  broad  and  leafy  trees,  with  the 
venerable  ruins  of  the  ancient  Episcopal  Castle  beyond  ?  Could 
the  inmates  of  any  house  wish  for  a  better  medium  for  the 
expression  of  their  best  desires  for  themselves  and  their  friends  ? 
And  can  those  who  have  left  it  do  more  than  hope  that  the 
pious  wishes  therein  expressed  have  been  fulfilled  in  the  Past, 
and  may  be  so  still  more  in  the  Future ;  that  Peace  has  been 
and  will  be  present  to  the  guest,  both  by  bed  and  by  board ; 
at  his  down-sitting  and  at  his  uprising;  in  business  and  in 
pleasure ;  and  that  Well-being  has  hovered,  and  will  hover, 
about  his  departing  footsteps,  and  pursue  them  as  they  passed, 
perchance  into  shadowy  time,  or  into  trackless  distance  ? 

Post  equitem  sedet  atra  Cura :  May  it  never  have  been,  may 
it  never  be  so  to  the  comer  here.  How  diflferent  again  the  greeting 
above  to  the  graphic  and  terse  warning,  Cave  canem^  inlaid  in 
the  Pompeiian  floor !  How  diflferent,  once  more,  to  the  well- 
known,  "  All  hope  relinquish  ye  who  enter  here " ;  and  if, 
perchance,  some  who  have  entered  have  at  any  time  felt  faint 
at  heart  at  the  prospect  of  an  examination  on  which  a  future 
depended,  we  would  fain  hope  that  most  have  departed  braced 
and  comforted,  and  with  their  loins  girt  and  their  weapons  in 
their  hands,  for  the  perils  of  their  future  journey,  and  with  their 
future  Well-being  in  their  own  hands ;  and  that  even  those  few 
who  have  met  with  disappointment  have  not  departed  without 
some  hope  of  finding  both  the  Pax  and  the  Salvs  on  another 
occasion.    But  should  such  there  be,  let  them  know  that  it  was 


THE  LATE  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF.  437 

not  only  by  themselves  that  the  pain  and  disappointment  were 
felt,  but  by  none  more  than  by  him  from  whose  lips  the  painful 
words  of  dismissal  had  to  come  ;  yet  even  to  them  the  wish  was 
still  applicable  :  Salvs  Exevntibvs:  May  it  be  well  with  you ! 
Pax    IxTRANTiBvs — Salvs    Exevntibvs.      How    many,    we 
wonder,  of  those  who  have  passed  that  portal  have  been  aware 
whence  came  those  mottoes  ?     Some  people  are  haunted  by 
a  vague  idea  that  the  expression  "  Beati poasidentesj^  used  by 
Bismarck  on  a  celebrated  occasion,  is  one  of  the  Beatitudes. 
So,   perhaps,   some,   on   seeing  the   above    words,   may   have 
ransacked  their    brains  and  thought  of  Pompeii  and   inlaid 
pavements ;  or  others  hazily  connected  them  with  the  Psalms 
of  David,  or  other  book  of  Holy  Writ.     But  the  words  BecUi 
po8»idente8  come,  we  believe,  from  the  Corpus  Juris  CivUis, 
and  the  mottoes  we  allude  to  face  the  traveller  as  he  passes 
through  the  Mediaeval  gates  of  Schaffhausen,  where  they  were 
seen   by  the  late  Bishop  of  Llandaif,  in  the  year  1858,  and 
whence  they  were  appropriated ;  and  in  many  ways,   indeed, 
they  seem  more  appropriate  to  the  quiet  calm  of  an  Episcopal 
retreat  than  to  the  rigour  of  Mediaeval  Burgher-life  conditions. 
Yet  the  mottoes  show  the  innate  longing  of  the  human  heart 
for  peace,  even  though  strife  be  oft-times  a  dire  necessity  ;  and 
that  the  Swiss  have  ever  been  addicted  to  such  pious  wishes  is 
amply  put  in  evidence   for  the  traveller  on  many  a  chalet, 
bam,   or  church.     Here  is  one,  for  instance,  which  we  well 
remember : — 

'*  Unsem  Eingang  Segnc  Gott ; 
Unsem  Aftsgang  gleichennasflen  ; 
Segne  ttnser  taglich  Brod ; 
Segne  ttnser  Thtin  ftnd  Lassen; 
Segne  tins  mit  Fried  im  Sterben, 
Und  mach  ttns  ztt  Himmelserben." 

'*  May  God  bless  our  going  out,  and  our  coming  in  :  bless  our  daily  bread  : 
bless  our  laboiu*,  and  bless  our  rejxMie :  bless  us  with  peace  in  the  hour  of  death, 
and  make  us  heirs  of  Heaven." 

Pax  Intrantibvs.  Yes  I  the  peaceful  harvest  of  thirty-three 
years  has  been  garnered  within  those  walls  ;  years  of  toil,  years 
of  rest,  years  of  some  sorrows  and  of  much  tranquil  enjoyment ; 
yet  withal  years  of  Peace.  Verily  1  whatever  betide,  come  weal 
or  come  woe,  come  rest  or  come  wandering,  such  a  spot  in  life's 
journey,  always  more  or  less  toilsome,  must  remain  clear  in  the 
memory  like  some  green  oasis,  to  which  the  thoughts  of  the 
wanderer  in  the  thirsty  desert  must  perforce  oft  recur;  or  some 
island  in  mid-ocean,  where  secure  from  storms  the  way-worn 
mariner  has  refitted  his  battered  ship,  and  whence  he  sails 
once  more  for  his  further  journey,  but  with  hope  still  fresh  to 
fan  his  sails !  Clear,  too,  in  the  memory  of  the  older  inhabitants 
of  LlandafF  will  remain  the  days  that  are  past,  when  the  Bishop 


438  THE  l^VTE  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF. 

might  be  met  taking  his  daily  walk  in  the  pleiisant  lanes 
around — those  of  Radyr  and  Fairwater  being  especial  favourites 
— and  indebted  they  are  somewhat  to  the  vigilant  eye  of  his 
earlier  days  for  the  preservation  of  some  of  the  neighbouring 
footpaths,  or  the  jwinting  out  of  some  encroachment.  Con- 
servative indeed  he  was,  but  in  the  best  sense :  anxious  ever  to 
preser\'e  existing  rights  intact,  but  ready  also  to  be  conWnced 
where  a  change  or  extension  of  the  old  order  of  things  was  once 
proved  to  be  expedient  and  legitimate.  But  his  mind  was 
eminently  judicial  and  impartial,  and  he  always  desired  proof. 
In  fiict,  had  he  not  been  a  bishop,  his  mind  was  well  equipped 
for  the  office  of  a  judge,  while  for  the  law  once  laid  down  he 
had  a  profound  respect.  Later  years  and  advancing  age  con- 
fined his  thoughts  more  and  more  to  the  ministerial  duties  of 
his  office,  and  his  footsteps  to  his  own  premises,  where  he  much 
enjoyed  to  plant  or  remove  a  shrub  according  to  fancy,  or  to 
cut  out  some  new  view  of  the  fair  cathedral  spire.  Leaving 
home  just  as  the  fresh  spring  green  had  fully  descended  on  the 
garden,  often  on  his  return  from  London  has  he  regretted  the 
loss  incurred,  and  remarked  ui)on  the  charm  of  the  spot,  the 
sweeping  trees,  the  breadth  of  lawn,  and  the  pastoral  beauty  of 
the  fields  and  cattle.  Peace  then  to  those  who  have  entered 
those  premises  in  the  past :  peace  once  more  to  those  who  wiU 
enter  in  the  future:  and  now:  Salvs  ExEV ntibvs  !  To  those, 
one  and  all,  who  have  issued  from  that  portal,  may  it  have 
been,  may  it  be,  well ;  to  those  who  will  issue ;  again,  may 
it  be  well !  To  those  now  leaving  the  familiar  spot,  many  a 
sunny  day,  and  one  fair  in  hope,  when  a  daughter  of  the  house 
stepped  forth  adorned  as  a  bride,  amidst  arches  and  flowers,  and 
happy  greetings  and  heartfelt  wishes,  many  a  voice  and  smile, 
many  a  hand-shake,  many  a  Choral  Festival,  many  a  gathering 
of  Kural  Deans,  many  an  Ordination  will  the  echo  of  those 
words  call  to  remembrance;  but  above  all,  two  days,  sad  yet 
dear,  will  stand  out  clear  cut  in  memory,  when  the  doors 
were  shut  and  desire  had  failed,  for  the  silver  cord  had  been 
loosed  and  the  golden  bowl  broken,  the  pitcher  shattered 
at  the  fountain  and  the  wheel  at  the  cistern ;  and  two  coffins 
were  borne  up  the  silent  garden  path  to  their  long  home^ 
and  the  mourners  stood  around. 

How  solemn  was  the  garden  on  that  well-recollected  autumn 
day,  and  how  distinct  comes  back  to  remembrance,  amidst  the 
distracting  thoughts  and  ignominious  details  that  haunt  the 
brain  on  these  sad  occasions,  the  drooping  forms  of  the 
venerable  parents,  as  they  sorrowed,  following  slowly  through 
the  porch  and  up  the  broad  steps  flanked  by  the  twin  urns  finom 
the  last  century  Italianized  west  front  of  the  Cathedral^  with 
the  memorial  inscription  written  by  the  Bishop's  own  hand. 


THE  LATE  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF.  439 

"QV^      ECGLESLE.      CATHEDRAUS.      FaSTIGIO.      iMPOSITiE 
.     PlAM.      MaGIS.      QvAM.      f^LICEM 

In  Aedificio.    Sacro.    Insta\'BAndo.    Et.    Ornando 

SiECVLI.      CVRAM 

Centvm.    Annos.    Commemora\^rant 

Hvc.    Demvm 

Antiqva.    Ecclesle.    Specie.    Bestitvta 

Ab.    Alfredo.    Episcopo.    Landavexsi 

TRANSLATiE.      SVST.      VrNAE 

A.D.    MDCCCLII." 

and  past  the  old  Celtic  Cross,  almost  for  certain  the  most  ancient 
relic  in  this  most  ancient  city  of  Teilo  and  Dubritius, 
discovered  by  him  above  his  Dairy  Well,  and  up  the 
^^^g  gravel  walk,  where  heavily,  from  the  late  autumn 
dews,  and  rains,  and  frosts,  "  hung  the  hollyhock,  and 
hea\ily  hung  the  tiger  lily,"  and  the  dahlias  began  to  look 
pinched  and  disconsolate — as  they  sorrowed,  following,  linked 
arm  in  arm,  their  first-born  to  his  grave,  and  followed  them- 
selves by  their  surviving  children  1  Ah  !  truly  already  the  locks 
were  beginning  to  be  like  the  snow  and  the  forms  to  be  bent,  for 
many  the  years  this  venerable  pair  had  already  travelled  together; 
but  still,  hand  in  hand,  they  will  go  for  some  blessed  years 
together  yet  on  earth.  Truly  again,  at  this  moment  whispered 
a  voice  in  our  ears :  **  So  should  the  last  rites  be  when  another 
end  should  come."  And  thus  it  was  on  that  day  when  another  pro- 
cession— simple,  unostentatious,  and  therefore  the  more  touching 
— passed  by  that  portal, and  its  farewell  words,  Salvs  Exevktibvs, 
and  followed,  not  gloomy  trappings,  nor  black  chariots  of  woe, 
nor  crushing  palls,  but  a  bright  oak  coflSn  covered  over  with 
flowers,  and  bearing  the  brief  inscription — 

ALFRED  OLLTVANT,  D.D., 

Thirty-three  Years  Bishop  of  Llandaff, 
Bom  August  16,  1798, 
Died  December  16,  1882, 

and  passed  silently,  sadly,  but  not  despairingly,  along  that  same 
garden  walk,  now  bereaved  of  the  fond  owner,  to  whom  the  fair 
premises  were  an  infinite  source  of  quiet  joy,  beneath  a  kindly 
winter  sun  that  shone  lovingly  upon  this  the  last  of  many 
meetings,  and  laid  him,  while  the  vast  throng  stood  hushed 
around,  to  his  last  rest  in  the  precincts  of  his  own  Cathedral, 
which  he  had  so  loved  to  see  restored  to  use  and  beauty. 

A  procession  that  was  of  many  kind  and  fedthful  friends  and 
clergy,  endeared  by  many  a  tie  of  mutual  work  and  mutual 
help,  to  all  of  whom  we  would  fain  take  this  opportunity  of 


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THE  LATE  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF.  441 

Cardiflf,  which  we  shall  all  sadly  remember,  that  he  made 
ready  to  loose  himself  from  those  symbols  of  his  ofl&ce,  of 
which  he  was  finally  divested  on  December  16,  1882.  Nor  will 
his  own  last  public  words  on  the  subject  be  forgotten.  In 
allusion  to  a  sermon  preached  in  the  Temple  by  Dean  Vaughan 
he  said  that  the  lesson  to  be  drawn  from  that  sermon  was 
*'  That  every  man  holding  a  public  situation  should  consider 
himself  invested  in  an  official  dress ;  that  he  should  take  care 
his  own  conduct  should  not  sully  that  dress ;  that  he  should  not 
fietabad  example  to  those  who  came  after  him,  and  that  he  should 
submit  it  to  his  successors  undefiled,  and,  if  possible,  so  as  to 
induce  them  to  esteem  it  more  and  more.*'  How  far  those 
principles  were  carried  out  in  his  own  life,  may  safely  be  left 
without  comment  to  the  public  verdict ;  how  far,  again,  in  his 
career  have  been  fulfilled  the  hopes  and  prayers  that  were 
expressed  on  March  13th,  1850,  the  day  of  his  installation.* 
On  that  occasion  the  following  hymn  was  sung  by  the  boys  of 
the  village  choir  as  they  preceded  the  Bishop  up  the  nave  after 
he  had  knocked  at  the  west  door  of  the  cathedral  and 
demanded  admittance : — 

"  We  bid  thee  welcome  in  the  name 
Of  Je8ii8,  our  cxfdted  Head  ; 
Come  as  a  shepherd,  so  He  c«ne, 
And  we  receive  thee  in  His  stead. 

"  We  bid  thee  welcome  ;  watch  and  keep 
This  fold  from  error  and  from  sin  : 
Nourish  the  lambs  and  feed  the  sheep — 
The  wounded  heal — the  lost  bring  in. 

**  Come  as  a  teacher  sent  by  God 

Charged  His  whole  counsel  to  declare  ; 
Lift  o'er  our  ranks  the  prophet's  rod. 
While  we  uphold  thy  hands  with  prayer. 

**  Come  as  a  mt'tssenger  of  peace, 

Filled  with  the  spirit,  fired  with  love  : 
Live  to  behold  our  large  increase, 
.\nd,  dying,  meet  us  all  above/' 

We  mfiy  be   assured   that   he   that   day  on   putting  "  on  his 

*  Mr.  J.  C.  Fowler,  in  the  February  number  of  the  Red  Dragon^  quoted  from 
the  Bishop's  Charge  of  1869  some  sentences  referring  to  the  installation.  The 
external  niin  was  there  described.  The  following  words  describe  also  the 
internal  desolation  of  the  Cathedral : — 

"  The  nati(mal  schoolmaster  and  eight  or  ten  of  his  boys,  singing  a  hymn, 
preceded  me,  as  I  walked  through  the  roofless  ruin  and  the  modernized  building — 
itself  a  scene  of  desolation — to  take  possession  of  my  Throne.  No  service  had 
been  perfonned  in  the  choir  for  some  years.  The  restoration  had  indeed  been 
commenced,  but  for  want  of  funds  its  progress  had  been  arrested  at  the  great 
Presbytery  Arch.  The  floor  of  the  Presbytery  was  bare  earth  both  above  and 
l>elow  the  steps.  The  arch  now  occupied  by  the  Sedilia  was  boarded  up  with 
planks.  The  Norman  Arch,  at  that  time  surmounting  the  old  dilapidated  Reredos 
which  now  stands  in  the  north  side  aisle,  was  blocked  by  a  huge  green  baize 
screen,  inserted  for  the  comfort  of  the  worshippers  in  the  Lady  ChapeL  The  side 
aisles  were  unflagged,  and,  as  I  have  before  observed,  in  a  state  of  most  disorderly 
confusion.  Few  Bishops,  I  imagine,  can  have  had  it  in  their  power  to  look  back 
upon  such  a  welcome  to  their  S^  !" — Note  bt  the  Bmhop. 


442  THE  LATE  BISHOP  OF  LLANDAFF. 

armour "  did  not  feel  boastful  as  one  that  "  putteth  it  oflF'' 
may  do,  though  even  that  was  far  from  him ;  but  prayed  the 
rather  in  like  manner,  as  we  sitting  anxiously  near  him  at  the 
visitation  at  Cowbridge  in  1878,  when  he  was  exceedingly  weak 
from  a  late  indisposition,  then  heard  him  before  the  delivery 
of  a  fatiguing  Charge  ejaculate,  "  0  Lord  I  give  me  strength  I'" 
How  many  of  his  coadjutors  have  ran  their  race  before  him 
since  that  ceremony,  at  which  he  (after  enthronement  and 
adjournment  to  the  Lady  Chapel  for  service)  "  took  his  seat  on 
the  right  of  the  altar ;  and  the  Archdeacon  of  LlandaflF  on  the 
left,  and  at  which  the  Eev.  J.  M.  Traheme,  Chancellor  of  the 
Cathedral,  and  the  Kev.  Thomas  Stacey,  Precentor,  occupied 
two  front  seats ;  and  the  Archdeacon  of  Monmouth,  and  the 
Kev.  Hugh  Williams,  Chancellor  of  the  Diocese,  sat  in  the  two 
seats  usually  occupied  respectively  by  the  Bishop  and  Dean/' 
and  the  choir  headed  by  Roberts,  the  worthy  National  School- 
master, the  performer  on  the  bass-viol,  sang  the  anthem, 
*'  I  will  arise  and  go  unto  my  Father." 

Our  heart  forbids  us  to  follow  him  from  that  last  public 
meeting,  and  the  vigour  of  brain  and  the  brave  spirit, 
and  the  farewell  words,  to  the  privacy  of  home,  the  sick 
chamber  and  the  pains  and  the  failings  of  the  flesh- 
Nay  1  rather  let  us  conclude  here  with  Salvs  Exevntibvs, 
Lord,  is  it  well  ?  Yes  1  it  is  well  to  him  whose  task  is  done 
— who  died  in  his  harness,  a  warrior  of  the  Church 
Militant.  He  is  gone  home,  and  "  ta'en  his  wages  ** — all  the 
wages  he  ever  looked  for,  and,  as  a  **good  and  faithful 
servant,"  has  entered  into  his  rest  and  his  joy.  Truly  our 
responsibility,  who  have  known  him,  is  not  small  for  the  lessons 
we  have  neglected,  and  the  opportunities  we  have  passed  by 
unheeded.  Let  us  conclude  with  a  quotation  from  T.  Carlyle  : — 
**  Let  me  not  mourn  that  my  father's  force  is  all  spent,  that 
his  valour  wars  no  longer.  Has  it  not  rather  gained  the 
victory  ?  ....  On  the  whole,  ought  I  not  to  rejoice  that 
God  was  pleased  to  give  me  such  a  father,  that  from  earliest 
years  I  had  the  example  of  a  real  man  of  God's  own  making 
continually  before  me  ?  Let  me  learn  of  him.  Let  me  write 
my  books,  as  he  built  his  houses,  and  walk  as  blamelessly 
through  this  shadow  world,  if  God  so  will,  to  rejoin  him  at 
last.    Amen." 

*'  Hie  terrarum  mihi  super  omnes 

angulus  ridet "  I 

Bournemouth^  Feb.  2%th.  J.  E.  Ollivant. 


WELSa    CHARACTER    SKETCHES. 


THE    OLD    PUDDLER. 


The  day  is  not  far  distant  when  the  puddler  will  be  as  extinct 
as  the  megatherium.  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  the  puddler  of 
my  recollection  is  not  even  now  undergoing  a  process  of  fossilisa- 
tion.  Danks  and  Menelaus  struck  at  the  very  existence  of  the 
class  to  which  he  belonged,  when  they  introduced  their  famous 
methods  of  churning  great  gobbets  of  molten  iron  into  the 
required  consistency  for  the  squeezer  or  hammer,  and  altimB.te,V^ 


444  WELSH  CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 

for  the  rolls,  which  the  mass  left  in  the  form  of  good  bar  ready 
for  the  bailer.  But  the  chum,  as  I  remember  it,  was  as  miser- 
able a  failure  as  a  dairymaid  with  sweaty  hands,  and  the  puddler 
— the  real  human  specimen,  I  mean — looked  on  in  glee,  and 
laughed  at  the  prospect  of  a  new  lease  of  life.  But,  like  the 
Welsh  language  and  the  roughness  of  the  recent  weather,  he  is 
going. 

He  was  a  man  of  considerable  importance  in  his  day,  was  the 
puddler.  Several  degrees  removed  from  the  common  labourer, 
the  master  of  a  furnace  and  the  employer  of  an  under  hand,  our 
puddler  was  looked  up  to  as  one  standing  somewhat  higher  in 
the  social  ladder  than  almost  anybody  in  his  own  department  of 
the  works.  I  have  known  young  and  active  specimens  of 
him  in  possession  of  good  furnaces  refuse,  over  and  over  again, 
the  post  of  a  gaffer.  They  made  more  money,  they  were  more 
independent,  obliged  to  take  "  less  jaw,"  they  said,  than  the 
gaffers,  who,  "  bully-ragged  "  of  gods  and  men,  and  (in  the  first 
stages  of  development  at  any  rate)  paid  the  scantiest  of 
*'  screws,"  spent  a  very  uncomfortable  life  of  it,  as  a  rule. 

My  master  puddler  was,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  a  married 
man.  His  was  exhausting  work,  and  it  required  the  loving, 
tender  care  of  a  good  Welsh  housewife  to  make  such  a  hot- 
house plant  thrive  and  grow.  He  could  never  get  on  in 
lodgings — he  was  too  nice  in  his  diet,  too  ^mrticular  in  his 
drinks — very  few  landladies  had  the  patience  to  put  up  with 
him.  He  was  not  like  the  navvy,  who  could  knock  down  a  horse 
and  eat  him ;  nor  like  the  collier,  whom  a  bagful  of  bread  and 
<;heese  and  a  "jack"  of  cold  tea  sufficed  for  a  whole  day.  He 
must  have  his  breakfast  of  nice  toast,  thickly  buttered,  an 
egg,  and  a  pint  of  hot  tea  or  coffee — tea  generally,  and,  oh 
mother  of  music!  it  was  tea  in  those  days — good  five-and- 
fourpenny  "  Cambrian  mixture,"  not  the  beastly  compoimd  of 
laurel  and  sloe  leaves  of  the  present  degenerate  age.  Then  his 
dinner  must  be  a  well-cooked  chop  or  steak,  with  a  thinly  sliced, 
beautifully  browned  onion,  mashed  murphies  well  buttered, 
bread,  and  a  can  of  the  best  small  beer  to  wash  down  the  whole 
withal.  His  meals  were  mostly  carried  to  work  to  him ;  if  he 
managed  to  "  run  up "  to  breakfast  he  never  came  to  dinner, 
because  at  the  time  when  the  meal  was  on  he  was  in  the  thick 
of  the  "  turn."  His  comestibles  were  packed  for  him  into  ft 
basin  (and  you  know  what  a  woman  can  pack — ^more  into  t 
portmanteau  than  a  man  into  a  railway  wagon  very  often)^ 
which  was  deposited  in  a  flat-bottomed  tin  box,  conical  at  the 
top,  in  which  there  was  a  kind  of  skylight  for  purposes  of 
ventilation,  over  this  again  being  a  handle  to  hold  it  by.  Hit 
^^  box  and  jack  "  were  part  of  the  puddler's  outfit,  and  about  the 
first  things  he  bought  on  entering  into  business.  When  ihfl 
•cares  of  Uie  housewife  were  too  great,  and  her  children  too  nnillf 


THE  OLD  PUDDLER.  445 

to  enable  her  to  take  a  personal  trip  to  the  works  with  the  meal, 
it  was  her  practice  to  remunerate  at  so  much  per  day — I  forget 
the  precise  amount  now,  but  I  am  not  far  wrong  in  saying  that 
it  was  not  more  than  a  penny — a  woman  who  relieved  her  of  the 
duty  and  performed  the  same  good  office  for  several  other  wives 
similarly  situated,  a  custom  from  which  she  derived  a  decent 
weekly  income.  The  meals  were  carried  day  and  night  every 
alternate  week.  On  the  night  turn  the  puddler  received  a  double 
meal  some  time  between  eight  and  nine  o'clock,  when  a  snack,, 
usually  consisting  of  about  a  pint  and  a  half  of  boiled  bread  and 
milk,  and  a  supper  of  much  the  same  ingredients  as  the  dinner 
I  have  described,  were  taken  to  him.  The  milk  was  usually 
consumed  while  the  attendant  waited,  and  the  jug  handed  back 
to  her  for  fear  of  a  smash.  The  inevitable  box  and  jack  were 
stowed  away  for  use  further  on  in  the  night  or  in  the  wee 
sma'  hours  of  the  morning. 

'  So  much  for  the  internal  economy  of  the  puddler.  Let  us 
now  take  a  glance  at  the  outer  man.  You  would  find  each 
individual  of  the  species  as  like  unto  the  other  as  eggs  are — 
or,  to  use  a  classicism,  isy  like  eggs.  He  had  a  shoe  specially 
made  for  himself —flat-bottomed,  so  as  to  be  easy  for  the  foot, 
thickly  studded  with  nails  so  as  to  protect  the  sole  from  the 
hot  cinders  over  which  he  was  constantly  striding,  and  with  just 
a  hole  or  two  for  the  lace,  so  that  he  might  be  able  instantly  to 
slip  it  oflF  in  case  of  accident.  His  nether  integuments  were  of 
'*duck,"  a  good  non-conductor  of  heat,  and  washable,  for  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  wearer  perspired  terribly.  His 
shirt,  generally  half-sleeved  and  wristbandless,  was  of  good 
Welsh  flannel,  which  he  never  renewed  if  he  could  help  it,  the 
consequence  being  that  it  was  often  worse  patched  than  a  bed- 
quilt  or  the  face  of  an  old  court  beauty.  He  wore  it  so  short 
that  the  ends  were  as  frequently  found  dangling  over  his 
trouser-tops  as  tucked  within  them.  Braces  he  never  aflfected, 
having  no  need  for  them,  because  their  work  was  performed  by 
the  string  of  his  apron — sl  large  piece  of  tanned  leather,  white 
when  new,  square  in  shape,  but  worn  folded  from  comer  to 
comer,  much  as  women  wore  their  neckerchiefs.  Under  this  he 
would — hum,  convey  the  wise  it  call — take  home  at  the  end  of 
every  turn  as  much  coal  nearly  as  would  keep  the  house  going. 
He  took  care  always  to  keep  a  good  thick  coat  and  vest,  and  a 
•decent  hat  or  cap,  for  wear  to  and  from  work.  At  work  he  hung 
them  all  up,  and  after  substituting  for  his  hat  a  duck  or  a  check 
kind  of  turban,  stood  before  his  furnace  in  his  shirt  sleeves  with 
a  clwtyn  chwys  (8weat>-wiper)  slung  carelessly  across  the  nape 
of  his  neck. 

The  furnace  itself  deserves  a  word  of  description.  It 
was  a  low  oblong  structure,  part  iron,  part  fire-brick,  with  a 
chimney  or  ^^ stack"  at  the  end,  longer  than  the  neck  of  a 


446  WELSH  CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 

giraffe,  and  having  at  the  top  a  damper,  shaped  like  a  store  pipe 
hat,  worked  by  a  chain  from  below.  At  one  end  of  the  body  of 
the  furnace  was  the  flue,  an  ugly  iron  protuberance,  for  coaling ; 
at  the  other,  and  the  stack  side,  a  vent  hole,  whence  escaped  the 
molten  slag.  Between  these  two  stood  the  paddler,  using  bars 
of  various  kinds,  which  he  cooled  in  a  "bosh,"  stirring  and 
making  malleable  and  homogeneous  the  molten  elements  inside. 
These  he  worked  into  huge  balls  of  glowing  metal  of  the  con- 
sistency of  hard  snow,  which  at  the  end  of  every  "  heat "  were  taken 
away  by  his  assistant  to  a  "  squeezer,"  where  they  were  speedily 
got  into  plugs  of  the  shape  of  roly-poly  pudding.  These  were  pnt 
through  a  pair  of  rollers  called  the  '*  roughing,"  then  through 
another  called  the  '*  finishing,"  which  they  would  leave,  each  <rf 
them,  a  perfect  puddled  bar.  After  this  they  were  sheared  into 
proper  lengths,  weighed,  placed  to  the  puddler's  account,  and  » 
done  with  as  far  as  he  was  concerned.  When  I  knew  him,  the 
puddler  worked  of  pig  iron  seven  heats  a  turn,  and  of  metal 
eight ;  the  latter  operation  being  achieved  by  doubling  heat  the 
seventh.  Iron  masters  were  then  only  just  commencing  opera- 
tions in  the  shoddy  line ;  and  metal  was  in  great  disfavour  with 
the  men,  who  were  higher  paid  for  pig,  which  they  could  make 
go  further,  and  which  they  could  work  with  less  labour,  although 
it  required  more  care  and  art,  than  metal.  With  pig  they  made 
a  good  bar,  and  this  made  a  good  rail ;  with  shoddy — I  should 
have  said  metal — they  made— well,  they  made  shoddy,  of 
<K)urse,  and  shoddy  iron  hastened  the  advent  of  steel.  Talk  to 
old  Pentrebach  puddlers — there  are  not  many  more  left  of  them 
than  of  the  veterans  of  Waterloo,  at  least  not  at  Pentrebach— 
and  they  will  tell  you,  with  a  flash  in  the  eyes  bright  as  one  of 
their  furnace  fires  in  the  brave  days  of  old,  that  Anthony  Hill's 
rails  were  found  good  at  the  end  of  thirty  years.  Hill's  was  the 
reign  before  Shoddy.  The  puddler  had  the  allowance  of  pig  or 
metal  he  was  to  work  up  carefully  weighed  out  to  him  heat  by 
heat;  but  he  managed  to  eke  out  the  quantity  sometimes  by 
means  of  a  friendly  pact  with  the  weigher,  sometimes  by  means 
of — I  must  say  it — thefts  of  crop  ends  and  scrap,  which  he 
snapped  up  everywhere  he  could.  Whenever  detected  in  such 
acts  he  was  fined  a  stiff  sum  at  the  office,  stopped  for  a  week  (if 
men  were  plentiful),  sent  to  "work  shares"  with  a  newly- 
promoted  underhand,  or  perhaps  "  sacked "  right  oflF,  and  not 
received  back  into  favour  again  until  after  a  long  period  of 
probation,  spent  in  what  was  known  as  standing  turns. 

Earning  good  money,  the  puddler  contracted  rather  decent 
habits.  He  had  a  pretty  little  cot  of  his  0¥m,  dressed  well, 
and,  if  a  bachelor  who  looked  after  himself,  was  considered  no 
small  prize  by  girls  in  search  of  a  husband.  I  have  seen  speci- 
mens of  him  who  were  perfect  fops,  sporting  a  diflferent  oott 
for  every  day  of  the  week,  and  two  for  Sundays.  The  ^  gentle- 


THE  OLD  PUDDLEE.  447 

men  puddlers,"  as  they  were  called,  were  prodigious  personages. 
One  whom  I  knew  at  Dowlais  filled  the  whole  chapel  with  his 
presence,  and  alone  and  unaided  made  a  greater  flutter  as  he 
swaggered  down  the  aisle  than  did  the  minister  and  his  family 
combined,  and  they  were  a  dreadfully  opinionated  lot,  I  assure 
you.  It  is  stated  of  a  Cyfarthfa  man  that  he  stood  in  the  Star 
parlour  with  his  coat  tails  to  the  fire  in  the  presence  of  Admiral 
Lord  Nelson,  who  had  just  come  down  from  seeing  how  the 
Crawshays  were  getting  on  with  their  cannon  casting.  The 
glorious  old  commander  entered  into  conversation  with  him, 
■and  declared  he  had  never  met  a  better  bred  man  in  all  his  life. 
There  is  a  well  authenticated  tradition  of  another  of  the  species 
who  used  regularly  every  week  to  ride  down  to  the  seat  of  an 
influential  county  gentleman  whose  daughter  he  came  very 
near  marrying.  His  gallant  puddler  self,  the  handsome  roan 
he  rode,  his  smart  servant  in  livery — a  pal  at  the  works — hardly 
any  worse  mounted,  took  the  squire  and  family  feirly  captive, 
and  it  was  by  the  merest  accident  in  the  world  they  found  out, 
just  in  the  nick  of  time,  that  the  son-in-law  elect  was  only  a 
puddler. 

As  a  rule,  the  puddler  was  a  remarkbly  shrewd,  ready-witted  fel- 
low. He  kept  his  own  accounts  in  tons,  hundredweights,  quarters, 
pounds  avoirdupois,  pounds  sterling,  shillings,  and  pence  with 
such  marvellous  accuracy  as  to  afford  a  check  upon  both  the  weigher 
of  his  iron  and  the  pay  clerk  at  the  oflBce,  with  each  of  whom 
he  was  often  brought   into  collision.     Other  exigencies  of  his 
calling  there  were  in   plenty  to  act  as  whetstones  to  his  wit. 
To  push  through  his  work  he  would  lend  the  squeezerman  a 
hand  rather  than  allow  a  ball  to  cool,  and  thus  necessitate  its 
re-heating.    He  had  to  hurry  on  the  men  at  the  rolls,  to  take  the 
tongs  as  a  catcher,  or  the   hook   as   a   holder-up ;    he  would 
put  the  shearer  through  his  facings,  bully  the  weigher  if  he 
was  not  sharp  at  his  business — cheat  him  too  by  allowing  a 
confederate  to  pull  back  the  heat  and  re-weigh  it  for  the  con- 
federate's self,  if  the  weigher  was  not  particularly  sharp — see  that 
his  scrap-ends  and  the  pieces  broken  oflF  in  the  rolling  were  not 
stolen,   and  very  often  to  decide  a  dispute  by  force  of  arms 
against  all  comers.     All  this  had  an  eflFect  in  forming  his  char- 
acter.    It  made  him  quick-witted,  resolute,  and  handy.     Taken 
as  a  rule  he  was  a  somewhat  cynical  customer,  fond  of  a  good 
joke  and  a  good  story,  not  very  religious — he  used  to  say  he 
knew  all  about  that ;  he  did  not  believe  in  a  warm  comer  after 
death  for  puddlers,  because  they  lived  in  one  here,  and  they 
were  bound  to  have  a  change  some  day,  you  know     but  still, 
for  all  that,  he  preserved  a  moral  relationship  with  the  exterior 
world  of  a  much  better  kind  than  many  another  class  of  man 
I  could  name.     I  have  known  many  very  religious — austerely 
religious  specimens  of  the  puddler.    In  a  certain  forge  witlL 


448  WELSH  CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 

which  I  was  acquainted,  the  whole  of  one  side  of  a  **  race  " — 
as  the  long  aisle  of  furnaces  is  called — was  worked  by  a  body 
of  Calvinistic  Methodists.     The  scoffers  over  the  way  nsed  con- 
temptuously to  allude  to  their  neighbours'  workings  places  3? 
Ochr  y  Penna\jbMawr  (the  Side  of  the  Big  Heads),  the  favourite 
Methodist    nickname.      It   is    part  of   the  puddler's   duty  to 
**  repair,"  or  in  other  words  to  put  ii^to  proper  fettle,  his  furnace 
on  a  Sunday.    The  Methodist  members  were  so  strict  in  the 
observance  of  the  Lord's  Day  that  they  could  never  be  got  to  do 
any  manner  of  work  thereon.     The  consequence  was   that  the 
puddler  whose  notions  were  not  so  rigid  used  to  net  a  good 
many  shillings  every  Sunday  by  doing  the  repair  for  the  men 
who  would  not  do  it  themselves — the  fee  in  such  a  case  being 
a  shilling  per  furnace.     When  reminded  of  the  sinfulness  of 
the  work  and  of  the  &te  in  store  for  him,  the  puddler  used  to 
reconcile  himself  to  the  situation  by  obser\ing :  "  Well,  if  I 
do  go  to  the  devil,  a  lot  more  will  come  along,  for  isn't  the  man 
who  pays  another  for  sinning  quite  as  much  to  blame  for  it  as  if 
he  had  sinned  himself  ?"    These  are  facts.     And  there  was  logic 
in  them,  of  a  kind. 

Merlin. 


OxNLY   A   STEP. 


Wild  were  the  thoughts  in  my  mind  one  night, 

Fearful  the  deeps  on  every  side ; 

Only  a  step  to  the  left  or  right, 

And  life  would  ebb,  in  the  ebbing  tide. 

Never  a  sound  on  the  silence  broke, 
Never  a  sound  save  the  plash  of  waves. 
Beating  their  banks  with  a  measured  stroke. 
Beating  the  banks  of  a  thousand  graves. 

Only  a  step,  and  the  moonlit  sea 
Would  wrap  me  up  in  its  cold  embrace, 
Kock  me  to  sleep  with  its  melody. 
And  nobody  know  my  resting  place. 

The  salt  spray  crept  through  my  tangled  hair. 
My  brow  was  hot  with  a  burning  heat, 
My  heart  kept  time  in  its  dark  despair 
As  the  wavelets  plashed  their  ceaseless  beat. 

Why  did  I  pause  on  that  fatal  brink  ? 
Was  it  the  fear  of  the  great  unknown  ? 
Did  fear  bring  back  that  power  to  think. 
Of  joys  that  back  in  my  youth  had  flown  ? 

A  mist  came  up  from  the  moonlit  sea, 
It  wrapped  me  up  like  a  silken  shroud, 
And  a  voice  soft  as  it  used  to  be. 
Whispered  me  out  of  that  misty  cloud. 

T.  Kyle. 


D   I) 


THE    SIN    EATER. 


There  are  two  articles  of  belief  connected  \rith  Wales  and 
Welshmen  that  are  firmly  fixed  in  the  minds  of  Englishmen  all 
the  world  over.  One  of  these  is,  that  there  is  a  village  in 
Anglesey  called  LlanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwUtyssil- 
iogogogoch,  and  the  other  that  there  used  to  be  a  disreputable 
old  party  connected  with  most  parishes,  whose  business  it  was 
to  swallow  the  offences  of  his  defunct  neighlx)urs ;  and  who, 
accordingly,  bore  the  ominous  title  of  The  Sin  Eater.  The 
latest  reference  I  have  seen  to  the  village  with  the  unpronoun- 
ceable name  is  in  the  South  Australian  Regiatei'  of  Jan.  27th, 
of  this  year ;  and  the  most  recent  *'  authority "  for  the 
superstition  seems  to  be  the  Eev.  Paxton  Hood,  who  wrote  a 
memoir  of  Christmas  Evans  a  couple  of  years  ago.  But,  first  of 
all,  let  us  see  what  the  earliest  known  "  authority "  on  the 
ijuestion  has  to  say  about  it.  John  Aubrey,  who  flourished 
between  1626  and  1700,  is  the  man  to  whom  all  later 
"  historians  "  are  indebted  for  their  evidence  of  the  prevalence 
of  the  custom.  Poor  old  Aubrey  has  been  dubbed  by  no  less 
an  authority  than  Gifi'ard  "  a  credulous  fool,"  and,  truly,  as 
another  writer  observes,  "  his  power  of  discriminating  truth 
from  falsehood  was  by  no  means  remarkable." 

As  the  substance  of  what  Aubrey  says.  Brand,  in  his  Popular 
AntiquitieSy  quotes  :  "  In  the  county  of  Hereford  was  an  old 
oustome  at  Funeralls  to  hire  2>oor  People,  who  were  to  take 
upon  them  the  Sinnes  of  the  Party  deceased.  One  of  them  (he 
was  a  long,  leane,  ugly,  lamentable  poor  Baskel)  I  remember 
lived  in  a  Cottage  in  Kosse  high-waye.  The  manner  was,  that 
when  the  Corps  was  brought  out  of  the  House,  and  layd  on  the 
Biere,  a  Ijoafe  of  Bread  was  brought  out  and  delivered  to  the 
Sinne  Eater,  over  the  Corps,  as  also  a  Mazar  Bowie  of  Maple, 
full  of  beer  (which  hee  was  to  drinke  up),  and  Sixe-pence  in 
money:  in  considera'con  whereof  he  tooke  upon  him,  ipsofadiOf 
all  the  Sinnes  of  the  defunct,  and  freed  him  or  ner  fitom 
walking  after  they  were  dead.  This  custome  alludes,  methinks, 
something  to  the  Scape-Goate  in  the  olde  Lawe."  Aubrey  goes 
on  to  say  that  though  the  custom  was  '^  rarely  used  in  onie 
dayes,  yet  by  some  people  was  observed  even  in  the  strietaflt 


THE  SIN  EATER.  451 

time  of  the  Presbyterian  Government."  It  was  also  observed 
at  *'  Brecon,  and  heretofore  all  over  Wales."  He  instances  a 
case  at  "Glangors,  where  Mr  Gwin,  the  Minister,  about  1640, 
could  not  hinder  the  ])erformance  of  this  antient  custome,"  and 
further  remarks:  "A.D.  1686.  This  custome  is  used  to  this 
daye  in  North  Wales,"  where  milk,  he  says,  was  the  substitute 
for  beer. 

Now  this  is  positively  all  the  evidence  we  have  that  such  a 
custom  ever  prevailed  in  the  Principality ;  for  although  John 
Bagford  (1717)  tells  (in  Leland's  CoU.  /.,  Ixxvi.)  of  "  an  old  sire," 
who  was  furnished  "  with  a  Cricket,  on  which  he  sat ;  a  Groat, 
which  he  put  in  his  pocket ;  a  Crust  of  Bread,  which  he  eat ; 
and  a  full  bowle  of  ale,  which  he  drank  oflF  at  a  draught,"  he 
does  but  copy  Aubrey,  upon  whose  text  modern  writers  have 
founded  homilies.  Hone  summarised  most  of  the  evidence  in 
his  Year  Book.  The  Rev.  Charles  Kingsley,  in  his  Health  and 
Education^  refers  to  the  custom  as  an  illustration  of  the 
perfonnances  of  the  Orphic  priests,  to  show  that  in  all  ages  we 
are  very  much  alike  ;  and  adds,  "  Alas,  poor  human  nature !" 
Dr.  Downes  wrote  most  graphically  of  the  custom  in  his 
Mountain  Decameron  —laying  the  scene  between  Aberystwyth 
and  Machjmlleth ;  and  others,  "too  numerous  to  mention," 
have  given  their  versions  of  the  practice,  and  specified  the 
localities  wherein  it  is  observed  ;  but  when  these  accounts  are 
analysed,  we  invariably  discern  the  "  original  sinner"  to  be  the 
**  long,  leane,  ugly,  lamentable  poor  Raskel "  of  the  Ross 
highway. 

A  very  interesting  discussion  on  this  question  took  place  in 
the  Academy  during  the  winter  months  of  1875-6,  in 
consequence  of  an  article  in  Blackioood  on  the  **  Legends  and 
Folk-Lore  of  Wales,"  in  which  the  writer  referred  to  the 
horrible  custom  of  sin-eating.  This  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  Rev.  D.  Silvan  Evans,  who  wrote  as  follows  : — "  The  earlier 
portion  of  my  life  was  spent  in  South  Wales,  and  I  have  lived 
upwards  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  North  Wales,  but  I  have 
never  heard  of  the  strange  custom  here  alluded  to,  either  as 
now  existing  or  as  having  existed  at  some  former  period.  I 
have  not  been  indifferent  as  to  the  customs  and  legends  of  the 
land  of  my  birth,  and  my  profession  often  brings  me  in  contact 
with  funerals ;  but  I  have  never  found  a  trace  of  such  a 
custom,  and  I  have  but  little  hesitation  in  saying  that  it  is 
altogether  xmknown  in  the  Principality."  This  at  once  called 
forth  replies,  but  no  new  facts  were  obtained;  all  that  was 
written  being  but  a  repetition  of  Aubrey  and  his  followers. 
As  may  be  supposed,  the  Blackwood  writer  was  amongst  the 
correspondents,  and  he  called  Professor  Evans'  attention  to  the 
fiwjt  that  at  the  Ludlow  meeting  of  the  Cambrian  Archaeological 
Society,  in  1852,  "Mr.  Moggridge  cited  a  case  of  this  su^eratitvyoL 

D  D  2 


452  THE  SIX  EATEK. 

as  ha\nng  occnrred  within  five  years  at  or  near  Llandebie,  in 
the  hill  country  of  Carmarthenshire/'  and  referred  him  to  the 
Journal  of  the  Society  for  the  report.  In  the  meanwhile  5Ir. 
Evans  spareil  no  i^ains  to  collect  evidence,  and  took  up 
''  authorities,"  and  giwe  the  result  of  his  enquiries  in  the 
Academy  of  Jan.  29,  1876.  First  of  all  he  quotes  a  portion  of 
what  !Mr.  !Moggridge  was  reported  to  have  said  ;  which  was 
this : — *'  In  Carmarthenshire,  not  far  from  Llandebie,  was  a 
mountain  valley,  where,  up  to  the  commencement  of  the 
present  centurj',  the  people  were  of  a  very  lawless  character. 
There  the  above  practice  was  said  to  have  prevailed  to  a  recent 
period,  and  going  thence  to  those  parts  of  the  country  where, 
from  the  establishment  of  works,  and  from  other  causes,  the 
people  had  more  early  become  enlightened,  he  found  the  more 
absurd  jx)rtious  of  the  custom  had  been  abandoned,  while  some 
still  remained.  Thus  near  Llanon,  within  twenty  years,  the 
plate,  salt,  and  bread  were  retained ;  near  Swansea  (and, 
indeed,  very  generally),  only  the  plate  and  salt."  It  will  be 
seen  from  the  foregoing  that  no  mention  is  made  of  **  within 
five  years ;"  and  on  this  fact  Mr.  Evans  comments,  but  the 
matter  was  afterwards  explained  by  the  Blackwood  writer  in  a 
further  quotation  from  Mr.  Moggridge,  which,  however,  he  and 
Mr.  Evans  read  different  1  v. 

In  passing  it  will  bt*  interesting  to  note  how  old  customs  and 
legends  get  mixed  up  by  modem  historians !  Not  a  word  is 
said  by  Aubrey  about  salt ;  although  the  use  of  salt,  in  some 
form  or  other,  at  funerals,  has  not  been  disputed.  But  to  return 
to  Professor  Evans's  reply.  In  a  private  letter  he  received  from 
Mr.  Moggridge,  that  gentleman  told  him  that  he  did  "not 
remember  anything  that  gives  a  date,"  adding  that  **  the  only 
written  account "  of  the  Sin  Eater,  "  from  personal  knowledge, 
is  tliat  of  Aubrey,  '  de  Gentilisme.' "  And  as  Aubrey  did  not 
profess  to  speak  from  personal  knowledge,  Mr.  E\'ans  justlj 
considered  the  matter  as  doubtful  as  ever.  Llandebie  itself  was 
not  unrepresented  in  the  discussion.  Mr.  John  liowlands,  tbf 
schoolmaster  there,  wrote  to  the  following  effect  in  the  Western 
Mail : — "I  opened  the  Llandebie  School  in  the  year  1850,  and 
I  lived  there  for  many  years.  I  knew  all  the  parishioners,  and 
the  history  of  the  parish ;  its  legends,  customs  and  traditionSi 
And  during  the  time  I  was  there  I  attended  many  funerals,  bat 
never  heard  of  a  Sin  Eater ;  in  fact  people  there  never  gave 
cakes  at  funerals.  I  knew  almost  every  parish  in  South  Wales. 
I  collected  all  the  legends,  and  made  notes  of  the  old  customs 
for  the  late  Sir  Thomas  Phillipj^s.  If  such  a  custom  had 
prevailed,  I  should  have  heard  of  it.  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
writing  that  it  is  a  glaring  untruth."  The  Eev.  Rees  Evaiu, 
vicar  of  the  parish,  also  wrote  at  some  length,  in  reply  to  a 
l«5tter  from  Mr.  Silvan  Evans.     In  the  course  of  his  conununicar 


THE  SIN  EATER.  453 

tion  he  says : — "  One  intelligent  old  man,  an  octogenarian, 
whose  ancestors  had  lived  from  time  immemorial  in  this  parish, 
told  me  that  snch  a  custom,  in  his  opinion,  could  not  have 
appeared  here  at  least  for  the  last  two  hundred  years,  or  he 
would  have  heard  of  it  from  his  father  or  his  grandfather,  who 
lived  to  a  great  age."  The  conclusion  the  clergyman  comes  to, 
after  the  enquiries  he  makes  amongst  his  parishioners,  is,  that 
**  the  statements  which  were  made  by  Mr.  Moggridge  cannot 
be  substantiated  by  any  reliable  authority,  or  proved  by  any 
credible  evidence." 

Mr.  Evans's  lengthy  communication   drew  forth   from   the 
writer  in  Blackwood  an  equally  lengthy  reply ;  in  the  course  of 
which   he   referred   to   himself   as,   "by   parentage,  ancestry, 
property,  and  interests,  connected  with  two  counties  of  South 
Wales."     And  he  speaks  of  his  frequent  travels  over  the  whole 
of  the  Principality ;  so  he  felt  competent  to  oflFer  an  opinion, 
although   he   had  failed    to  "acquire  the  language."     Before 
this  letter  appeared,  I  had  joined  in  the  discussion,  and  hinted 
that  the  author  of  the  paper  on  the  "  Legends  and  Folk  Lore  of 
Wales  "  was  a  resident  of  the  Herefordshire  border ;  and  I  now 
have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  it  was  the  late  Prebendary 
Davies,  of  Moor  Court,  Kington,  whose  recent  death  all  who  are 
interested  in  Welsh  literature  and  archaeology  have  to  mourn. 
•His   reply   to  Mr.  Evans  appeared  on  February  8th,  and  he 
quotes   Murray's    Hand-book    to    South    Wales   (edit.    1870), 
^ited  by  "  a  medical  man  of  eminence "  (as  he  believes),  for 
the  fact  that  "  the  superstition  of  the  Sin  Eater  is  said  to  have 
lingered  until  very  recently  in  the  secluded  valley  of  Cwm- 
Amman,  in   Caermarthenshire."     After  which   he  goes  on  to 
say:—"!  refer  to  the  ordnance  maps,  and  find  Cvvm-Amman  to 
lie  not  far  distant  from  Llandebie,  on  the  Garnant  branch  of  the 
Swansea  Valley  Railway.     Lady  Vemey,  in  the  current  number 
of  the  Contemporary^  refers  to  the  same  superstition,  and  if  the 
whole  story  does  really  trace  back  to  Aubrey,  it  is  at  least 
singular  that  there  should  lie  in  wait  for  such  enquirers  as  that 
pleasant    antiquary,    and    his     later     fellow     craftsman,    Mr, 
Moggridge,   deliberate    fiction-mongers    to    practice   on   their 
credulity,  and  to  spread  abroad  a  lie  which  Welshmen  feel  it  a 
point  of  national  honour  to  repudiate.     I  scruple  to  take  up 
your  space,  or  I  might  show  that  such  a  superstition  is  not 
easily    removed   from   others   which,   in   many   nations,   have 
simulated  the  vicarious  sin-bearing  of  the  Levitical  scape-goat. 
Grotius  on  I  Cor.  iv.,  13,  traces  one  such  in  Caesar's  account  of 
the  Gauls  (B.  ix.,  6).     That   is   coming  near  to   the   Welsh, 
though  doubtless  it  would  be  treason  to  say  that  they  are  either 
ignorant  or  superstitious." 

In  all  this  the  jBfacti(;oo(Z  writer  gives  no  further  "authority;** 
—  for  the  editor  of  the  Hand-book  could  scarcely  be  accouiLtj^^ 


454  THE  SIN  EATER. 

one — and  Mr.  Evans,  in  reply,  obserN^es  that  "  ^Ir.  Moggridge, 
and  apparently  the  writer  of  the  article,  assume  all  along 
that  the  plate  and  salt  are  necessary  remnants  of  the  alleged 
Sin  Eating  practice ;  and  finding  these  articles  employed  in 
certain  cases,  they  take  it  for  granted  that  '  the  more  odious 
part  of  the  custom  has  been  removed,'  which  amounts  to 
begging  the  whole  question."  He  considers  "  it  is  very  kind,  but 
slightly  superfluous,  on  the  part  of  the  writer  to  *  refresh '  his 
memory  respecting  '  the  vicarious  sin-bearing  of  the  Levitical 
scape-goat;'"  and  concludes  by  refusing  to  give  credit  to  any 
statement  on  the  authority  of  "  so  credulous  a  person  as  Aubrey, 
in  any  case  in  which  superstition  plays  a  part."  Here  the 
discussion  ended,  as  far  as  the  principals  were  concerned. 
Another  discussion  was  carried  on  in  the  "  Shreds  and  Patches  ^ 
column  of  the  ShreivahuTij  Joitrnal  a  year  or  two  later  ;  and  on 
more  than  one  occasion  the  superstition  has  been  referred  to  in 
the  "  Bye-gones "  column  of  the  Oswestry  Advertiser.  Mr. 
Wirt  Sykes  goes  very  fully  into  the  question  in  his  British 
Ooblins^  and  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  "  no  other  writer  of 
Aubrey's  time,  either  English  or  Welsh,  appears  to  have  made 
any  reference  to  the  Sin  Eater  in  Wales;  and  equal  silence 
prevails  throughout  the  writings  of  previous  centuries."  And 
as  to  later  "  authorities,"  Mr.  Sykes  failed  to  discover  one  who 
wrote  in  the  Welsh  language,  **  a  singular  omission  if  there  • 
ever  was  such  a  custom,  for  concerning  every  other  8U]>erstitious 
practice  commonly  ascribed  to  Wales,  the  Welsh  have  written 
freely." 

And  now,  when  we  might  reasonably  have  expected  that  the 
Sin  Eater  had  been  laid  for  ever,  appears  the  Rev.  Paxton 
Hood's  book — referred  to  in  the  March  number  of  the  Bed 
Dragon.  Mr.  Hood  is  a  very  pleasant  writer,  but  he  is  too 
impulsive  for  an  antiquary.  It  was  only  in  1876  that  he 
gave  a  glowing  picture  of  Llanidloes,  "  the  home  of  the  really 
great  poet,  John  Dyer,"  and  told  us  of  "  Grongar  Hill,  a 
delicious  spot  in  that  neighbourhood ! "  Now  he  sets  up  an 
imaginary  being  in  the  district  of  Cwm-Amman ;  and  only  varies 
the  words  of  Mr.  Murray's  editor  by  remarking  that  the 
superstition  "  is  said  to  linger  even  now,"  instead  of  (as  Murray 
has  it),  "  is  said  to  have  lingered  until  very  recently,"  in  that 
happy  valley !  Mr.  Hood's  assertion  was  copied  into  Notes  and 
Queries  in  January  last,  and  will,  doubtless,  be  accepted  as 
gospel  by  a  goodly  number;  but  unfortunately  for  him,  his  book 
on  Christmas  Evans  attracted  the  attention  of  a  brother  minister 
in  the  same  Cwm-Amman  Vale,  who  promptly  wrote  to  the 
Christian  World  to  repudiate  the  whole  story. 

Oswestry.  Askew  Roberts. 


THE  SIN  EATER.  453 

tion  he  says : — "  One  intelligent  old  man,  an  octogenarian, 
whose  ancestors  had  lived  from  time  immemorial  in  this  parish, 
told  me  that  snch  a  custom,  in  his  opinion,  could  not  have 
appeared  here  at  least  for  the  last  two  hundred  years,  or  he 
would  have  heard  of  it  from  his  father  or  his  grandfather,  who 
lived  to  a  great  age."  The  conclusion  the  clergyman  comes  to, 
after  the  enquiries  he  makes  amongst  his  parishioners,  is,  that 
**  the  statements  which  were  made  by  Mr.  Moggridge  cannot 
be  substantiated  by  any  reliable  authority,  or  proved  by  any 
credible  evidence." 

Mr.  Evans's  lengthy  communication  drew  forth  from  the 
writer  in  Blackwood  an  equally  lengthy  reply ;  in  the  course  of 
which  he  referred  to  himself  as,  "by  parentage,  ancestry, 
property,  and  interests,  connected  with  two  counties  of  South 
Wales."  And  he  speaks  of  his  frequent  travels  over  the  whole 
of  the  Principality ;  so  he  felt  competent  to  offer  an  opinion, 
although  he  had  failed  to  "acquire  the  language."  Before 
this  letter  appeared,  I  had  joined  in  the  discussion,  and  hinted 
that  the  author  of  the  j^aper  on  the  "  Legends  and  Folk  Lore  of 
Wales  "  was  a  resident  of  the  Herefordshire  border ;  and  I  now 
have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  it  was  the  late  Prebendary 
Davies,  of  Moor  Court,  Kington,  whose  recent  death  all  who  are 
interested  in  Welsh  literature  and  archaeology  have  to  mourn. 

•  His  reply  to  Mr.  Evans  appeared  on  February  8th,  and  he 
quotes  Murray's  Ilaiid-hook  to  South  Wales  (edit.  1870), 
^it^  by  "  a  medical  man  of  eminence "  (as  he  believes),  for 
the  fact  that  "  the  superstition  of  the  Sin  Eater  is  said  to  have 
lingered  until  very  recently  in  the  secluded  valley  of  Cwm- 
Amman,  in  Caermarthenshire."  After  which  he  goes  on  to 
say :— "I  refer  to  the  ordnance  maps,  and  find  Cwm-Amman  to 
lie  not  far  distant  from  Llandebie,  on  the  Gamant  branch  of  the 
Swansea  Valley  Railway.  Lady  Vemey,  in  the  current  number 
of  the  Contemporary^  refers  to  the  same  superstition,  and  if  the 
whole  story  does  really  trace  back  to  Aubrey,  it  is  at  least 
singular  that  there  should  lie  in  wait  for  such  enquirers  as  that 
pleasant  antiquary,  and  his  later  fellow  craftsman,  Mr. 
Moggridge,  deliberate  fiction-mongers  to  practice  on  their 
credulity,  and  to  spread  abroad  a  lie  which  Welshmen  feel  it  a 
point  of  national  honour  to  repudiate.  I  scruple  to  take  up 
your  space,  or  I  might  show  that  such  a  superstition  is  not 
easily  removed  from  others  which,  in  many  nations,  have 
simulated  the  vicarious  sin-bearing  of  the  Levitical  scape-goat. 
Grotius  on  I  Cor.  iv.,  13,  traces  one  such  in  Caesar's  account  of 
the  Gauls  (B.  ix.,  6).  That  is  coming  near  to  the  Welsh, 
though  doubtless  it  would  be  treason  to  say  that  they  are  either 
ignorant  or  superstitious." 

In  all  this  the  Blackwood  writer  gives  no  further  "authority;** 
—  for  the  editor  of  the  Hand-hook  could  scarcely  be  afic/c^xso^jid^ 


4.36  THE  BELLS  OF  ABERDOVEY. 

tions  of  pleasure.  Stretched  out  in  front  of  me  lay  the  home- 
steads and  the  cottages  of  the  little  town,  a  faint  blue  smoke 
curling  uji  from  their  roofs  to  meet  the  vast  canopy  of  sky, 
while  winding  along  in  the  valley  was  the  river  Vymwy,  made 
glittering  and  glorious  by  the  rays  of  the  orb  above.  The 
peaceful  air  brought  a  glad  sensation  to  me  as  I  stood  there, 
amazed  and  wondering.  What  would  it  not  be  to  paint  a  scene 
like  this  I  Then  I  remembered  my  mission.  Was  not  this  a 
feeling  ?  Could  it  not  be  musical,  for  was  it  not  truly  poetical ; 
and  all  poetry  is  music.  I  turned,  as  I  considered  that  this 
theory  would  not  meet  with  the  approval  of  my  practical-minded 
fellows.  Now,  if  a  band  could  come  marching  down  the  hill 
side,  playing  all  the  grandest  and  sweetest  of  national  airs  I 
Would  not  that  be  a  picture  ?  No;  again  I  thought  that  might 
be  a  feeling,  but  not  a  feeling  j^icture.  Hush  !  what  was  that ! 
Music  !  Away,  nestling  u])  among  the  trees,  I  saw  a  little  white 
house.  The  breeze,  rustling  amid  the  foliage,  seemed  to  say  to 
me,  "  Hasten !  hasten !"  and  a  strain  of  something  so  sweet  (I 
<loubted  my  senses  at  the  sound)  impelled  me  onwards,  quickly 
— on  to  that  little  whito  house.  Clearer  and  clearer  grew  every 
note  as  I  advanced.  Suddenly  it  ended  with  a  magnificent 
wail. 

1  stood  by  a  small  iron  gate,  the  entrance  to  a  neatly 
gravelled  walk,  which  was  enclosed  by  shrubbery.  I  heard  a 
gentle  voice  say,  "  Try  the  other,  Hubert,  this  is  so  sad."  Then 
there  was  the  rustle  of  paper,  and  the  scraping  of  a  \'iolin. 
Ha !  I  thought,  my  opportunity  !  (^arefully  opening  the  gate, 
I  stole  noiselessly  along  the  path,  and  crouched  beneath  a  tree. 
From  behind  its  branches  1  could  see  distinctly  across  a  narrow 
Lawn,  through  opened  French  windows,  into  a  room,  where  sat 
at  a  pianoforte  a  fair  young  girl  of  nineteen  or  twenty  yean?. 
Standing  beside  her,  holding  a  violin,  was  a  young  man- 
evidently  her  senior — with  a  face  as  kind,  and  a  brow  as  noble, 
;is  his  gentle  comptmion.  Beyond  this  I  could  not  see,  but  the 
haimony  which  reached  my  ears  betokened  that  a  third  person 
was  i)resent  with  a  violoncello.  As  I  disturbed  the  branches}, 
to  obtain  a  clearer  view,  the  young  lady  turned  her  head 
towards  me  and  noticed  the  moving  of  the  leaves.  Nothing 
further  hapjwned,  but  I  had  time  to  catch  the  sweet  expression 
of  those  lovely  features.  W^liat  else  can  I  term  them?  Purely 
Grecian,  with  blue  eyes,  that  beneath  their  drooping  lashes 
sjK)ke  of  kindness  and  love  alone.  I  had  grasped  my  sketch 
1)ook,  and  was  rapidly  outlining  the  scene.  Whilst  so  doing,  1 
could  not  help  remarking  the  beauty  of  the  piece  they  were 
playing.  It  was  a  kind  of  fantasia  on  some  Welsh  airs,  but  m 
finely  was  it  rendered  that  I  felt  obliged  to  stay  my  pencil  and 
listen  ;  and  the  feeling  that  then  possessed  me  was  as  much 
belonging  to  the  supernatural  as  anything  I  have  yet  ezpe- 


THE  BELLS  OF  ABERDOVEY.  457 

rienced  when  moved  at  scenes  of  beauty.  The  pianist  threw 
her  heart  into  her  work,  and  he  who  accompanied  her  was  eye 
and  nerve  fixed  on  the  sense  of  the  strains  he  was  rendering; 
whilst  in  each  of  their  faces  there  seemed  to  be  a  sweet  smile 
of  heavenly  rapture,  as  they  gave  their  talent  and  soul  with 
enthusiasm  to  the  performance. 

To  speak  of  my  heart  leaping  anew  with  delight  would  be 
but  a  poor  description  of  the  joy  I  felt.  Here  was  sentiment 
for  you !  The  heavenly  softness  of  "  Clychau  Aberdyfi  "  rising 
and  falling  in  sweet  cadence  pierced  to  my  very  soul,  and  made 
me  feel  a  new  creature.  So  soothing  and  divine  those  notes 
seemed     ....     the  air  was  filled  with  a  charming  perfume 

•  .  .  .  afar  off  I  fancied  I  heard  bells  ringing,  now  faintly, 
now  loudly,  with  the  wind.  .  .  >  Then  with  a  murmur  of  waters 
rushing  onward,  and  a  burst  of  thunder,  sounded  that  grandest 
of  national  melodies,  "  The  March  of  the  Men  of  Harlech."  Ima- 
gination took  me  to  the  hill-top,  and  I  saw  troops  of  loyal  natives 
gathering  in  the  valley  below,  and  a  shout  of  gladness  seemed 
to  rise  on  the  air  of  evening,  then  to  fall  and  fade,  and  the 
picture  melted  away  into  thin  mist,  and  the  song  into  a  quiet 
gentle  chord  of  peace.  Tlie  young  girl  rose  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  and  came  and  stood  at  the  window,  looking  out  into  the 
distance.  Sweet  creature !  you  are  worthy  the  love  you  2)ossess 
for  an  Art  that  is  heavenly. 

My  sketch  was  completed.  I  returned  to  the  hotel  as  quietly 
as  I  had  come,  and,  when  there,  made  enquiries  respecting  the 
"  little  white  house  on  the  hill-side."     No  one  kne  w  anything, 

save  that  some  visitors  were  staying  with  Air.  B .     I  went 

again  the  next  evening,  but  silence  reigned  supreme  ;  the  birds 
had  surely  flown.   Every  private  eflfort  to  discover  the  characters 
of  my  picture  was  unavailing,  and  at  last,  baulked  in  my  desires 
and  disturbed  in  spirit,  I  returned  to  town  to  paint  "  Music." 
•  •..«• 

"  Music  "  had  been  accepted  by  the  Academy  Committee,  and 
had  been  hung  in  a  fairly  prominent  position.  Many  a  critic 
had  given  me  a  kindly  word  respecting  it,  and  one  of  the  ordinary 
questions  of  the  day  amongst  sightseers  was — "  Have  you  seen 

*  Music '  at  the  Academy  ?"  .  .  .  Why  did  I  haunt  the  exhi- 
bition ?  .  .  .  Was  it  that  1  expected  to  see  a  face  ?  It  was 
the  fifth  day  after  the  opening,  and  I  was  beginning  to  tire  of 
looking  and  searching  for  what  I  had  imprinted  upon  my  heart 
— the  face  of  an  angel.  I  had  wandered  to  the  entrance,  and 
was  hesitating  whether  to  go  in  or  not,  condemning  my  per- 
sistency, and  yet  fearing  to  neglect  what  I  had  set  my  mind  on, 
when  up  came  an  old  friend  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  years, 
saying,  "  I've  found  you  at  last.  Jack.  How  are  you  ?  Here,  allow 
me  to  introduce  Hubert  Chersael.  Per\ia\)?»  ^ovIln^  ^f^fc-^^^VYO^ 
before  ?"    The  original  violinist  I  1  Vfas  sl^gex^^^^xvd.  Q«v^^^aR^» 


458  THE  BELLS  OF  ABEEDOVEY. 

speak  for  some  moments.  At  last  he  seized  my  hand,  and 
exclaimed  kindly,  *'  I  have  just  seen  your  picture,  thank  you 
for  it,  thank  you  r  .  •  .  .  We  turned  down  Piccadilly, 
and  crossed  the  Green  Park. 

"  And  your — your — '' 

«  My  sister  ?"  said  he. 

"  Ay,  your  sister,  she — "  I  faltered. 

He  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  then  I  knew  that  one 
of  the  best  of  God's  fair  children  had  bid  farewell  to  this  world. 

.  •  .  .  .       ,      • 

Chersael's  is  a  famous  name  now,  and  he  is  ever  my  friend. 
Compared  with  him  I  am  only  a  poor  artist,  but  I  love  music 
as  I  love  my  friend,  and  would  willingly  commence  life  again 
could  I  hope  to  inherit  his  genius.  Come  with  me  to  a  little 
villa  situated  in  one  of  tlie  fairest  of  Cambrian  vales ;  ent-er  a 
fine  lofty  apartment  on  the  first  floor,  which  commands  a  view 
of  exquisite  splendour  ;  then  turn  to  the  wall  and  note  the 
loveliness — impeifect  at  the  best,  'tis  true — depicted  in  one 
face,  here  suspended  on  canvas.  This  is  the  treasure  of  Hubert. 
Chersael  and  his  friend.  Underneath,  in  gold  letters  on  a  black 
ground,  are  these  words,  a  semblance  of  the  old  sweet  stniin  : — 

"  Wlien  the  strife  of  life  is  done, 
Peace  i8  found  in  Heaven  alone, 
Say  the  bells  of  Aberdeovy." 

w.  H.  s. 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS. 


A  History  of  England  and  Wales  from  the  Roman  to  the 
Norman  Conquest.  By  T,  Morgan  Owen,  M.A.  Ix)ndon  :  Geo. 
Philip  and  Son,  32,  Fleet  Street. — ^P^or  trying  to  show  that  Dr. 
Lingard  was  wrong  in  his  estimate  of  our  ancestors,  whom  he 
impolitely  described  as  robbers  and  assassins,  Mr.  T.  Morgan 
Owen,  M.A.,  Bronwylfa,  Bhyl,  deserves  well  of  every  patriotic 
Welshman.  But  the  real  value  of  his  services  is  not  so  much 
due  to  this  fact  as  to  another,  namely,  that  he  has  put  together 
for  us  a — taking  all  things  into  consideration — complete  and 
consecutive  worded  history  of  a  period  and  of  a  people  with 
respect  to  which  and  whom  the  ordinary  text  books  leave  us  grop- 
ing in  darkness  impenetrable.  The  average  Welsh  schoolboy 
knows  well  enough  the  principal  figures  in  English  history  from 
the  invasion  of  Julius  Caesar,  B.C.  55,  to  the  battle  of  Hastings, 
A.D.  1066  ;  but  just  try  him  with  a  test  question,  such  as  who 
was  King  of  South  Wales,  or  who  reigned  over  North  Wales 
when  Ethelfleda  occupied  the  throne  of  Mercia.  The  result 
in  this  case,  we  fear,  would  be  the  discovery  of  a  hopeless 
hiatus  in  his  memory  which  ought  to  have  been  filled  with  the 
name  and  fame  of  Hy wel  Dda,  the  grandson  of  Rhodri  Mawr. 
Of  the  massacre  of  Bangor  Is-Coed  how  many  Welsh  boys  know 
anything  ?  How  many  of  them  have  ever  heard  of  even  the 
name  of  Regner  Lodbrog,  the  news  of  whose  terrible  fate 
brought  down  the  Norsemen  like  a  whirlwind  upon  the  shores 
of  Northumbria  and  East  Anglia.  A  great  deal,  if  not  all,  of 
this  ignorance  is  due  to  two  causes :  first,  the  writers  of  English 
school-books  are,  as  a  rule,  as  innocent  of  a  knowledge  of 
real  history  as  it  is  possible  for  any  set  of  men  to  be ;  and 
secondly,  those  who  could  enlighten  their  countrymen  and  the 
world — those  scholars  we  mean  whose  knowledge  of  Welsh 
language  and  Welsh  history  peculiarly  fit  them  for  the 
task — either  leave  the  work  of  enlightenment  to  the  sneering 
Saxon,  or  themselves  set  about  it,  and,  without  attempting 
to  discriminate  between  fable  and  fact,  cry  up  their  own 
country  and  its  traditions  with  a  fulsomeness  fairly  sicken- 
ing. When  it  is  borne  in  mind,  too,  that  this  is  done, 
oftener  than  not,  in  a  language  which  the  rest  of  the 
world  cares  nothing  about,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  study  of 
what  is  called  Welsh  history  should  be  despised  by  those  who 
do  not  knpw  the  Welsh  language,  and  laughed  at  by  the  best 
educated  of  those  who  do.  A  successful  school-book,  as  Mr« 
Owen's  promises  to  be,  will  do  a  great  dea\  \«rw«xdaT^RX2&iVck%KX3Ci2^ 


460        jNIARGINAL  notes  ON  LIBRAEY  BOOKS. 

state  of  things.  We  are  only  sorry  to  be  compelled  to  mingle 
praise  of  the  work  with  something  which  may  look  very  like  blame. 
The  book  contains  no  mention  whatever  of  the  greatest  of  all 
British  kings  and  heroes,  Arthur.  Why  is  this  ?  The  author 
has  made  copious  use  of  Matthew  of  Westminster,  Florence  of 
Worcester,  the  Saxon  Chronicle,  Henry  of  Huntingdon,  Asser 
Giraldus,  and  other  early  historians ;  but  GeoflFrey  of  Mon- 
mouth is  conspicuous  by  his  absence.  This  may  account  for  his 
silence  in  regard  to  Arthur.  The  author,  however,  should 
remember  that,  however  largely  Geoffrey's  works  may  be  inter- 
larded with  fable,  there  is  but  very  iittle  question  as  to  the 
existence  of  a  real  historical  Arthur,  distinct,  of  course,  from 
the  mythological  personage  of  that  name.  The  judicious 
William  of  Malmesbury,  on  whom  Mr.  Owen  has  relied  for  a 
number  of  other  facts,  entertains  no  doubt  whatever  as  to  this 
one ;  see  his  Chronicle  of  the  Kings  of  England^  lib.  i. 
cap.  i.     Even  the  cynic  Gibbon  is  a  believer  in  Arthur. 

Celtic  Britain.  By  J.  Ehys,  M.A.  London :  Society  for  Pro- 
moting Christian  Knowledge. — Professor  Ehys  calls  the  more 
recent  of  his  literary  performances  a  little  book,  and  for  so  large 
a  subject  as  a  history  of  Celtic  Britain,  it  unquestionably  is  a 
little  book.  But  it  is  little  only  as  far  as  bulk  goes.  The 
S.  P.  C.  K.,  when  looking  about  them  for  an  author  for  another 
of  their  "  Early  Britain  "  series  of  histories,  could  not  have  been 
better  or  happier  in  their  choice  of  a  workman.  The  Oxford 
Professor  of  Celtic  was  already  in  possession  of  the  general 
principles  of  his  subject  to  such  an  extent  that  it  was  unnecessary 
he  should  do  more  than  undertake  the  mechanical  drudgery 
of  gathering  up  his  materials  and  ranging  them  into  proper 
order  and  form.  For  writing  the  early  history  of  a  people  like 
the  Celts,  a  knowledge  of  Celtic  is  one  of  the  lirst  requirements. 
The  limited  philological  attainment  of  the  average  Saxon  his- 
torian brings  him  to  grief  as  often  as  he  attempts  to  explain 
the  existence  of  a  national  custom  or  the  meaning  of  a  local 
name.  For  definitions  lying  within  easy  reach,  if  he  only  knew 
precisely  not  where,  but  how,  to  lay  hands  on  them,  he  scurries 
off  to  Greece  or  Rome,  or,  iif  he  be  scholar  enough,  to  Arabia 
or  India.  The  result  is  an  elaborate,  but  very  comical, 
hypothesis  of  the  Bill-Stubbs-his-Mark  species,  instead  of  a 
substantial,  reasonable,  and  indisputable  fact.  Starting  with 
the  statement  that  the  Celts  form  a  branch  of  the  great  Aryan 
family.  Professor  Khys,  instead  of  attempting  a  date,  saya  it 
was  "  a  long  time  ago  "  since  the  first  Celts  crossed  the  sea  to 
settle  in  Britain.  The  immigration  was  not  over  in  a  year  or 
in  a  century.  The  invasions  were  two,  each  belonging  to  a 
distinctive  group  of  the  same  great  family.  One  of  these 
groups  the  author  calls  the  Goidelie,  which  included  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Ireland  and  Man,  the  Scottish  Highlanders,  and  pcMknis 
cf  Wales  and  Devon.    The  other  was  the  Brythonic,  ianaaif 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBEARY  BOOKS.       461 

represented  by  the  people  of  Wales,  the  Bretons,  the  Welsh  of 
Cambria,  and  some  of  those  of  Ckirnwall.  The  ancient  Gauls 
must  also  be  classified  with  them,  since  the  Brjthons  may  be 
regarded  as  Gauls  who  came  over  to  settle  in  Britain.  Gaulish 
being  long  defunct,  every  Celt  of  the  United  Kingdom  is, 
80  far  as  language  is  concerned,  either  Goidel  or  Briton.  To 
the  merchants  of  Marseilles  we  owe  the  first  authentic  account 
of  the  British  islands  and  people.  They  fitted  out  an  expedi- 
tion and  sent  with  it  Pytheas,  an  eminent  mathematician  of 
their  city,  who,  soon  after  the  death  of  Aristotle  in  330,  published 
a  history  of  his  travels.  Fragments  of  the  diary  of  his  voyage 
have  also  been  preserved  to  us  in  the  works  of  various  other 
ancient  authors.  Pytheas  explodes  and  blows  into  utter 
destruction  the  theory  that  our  ancestors  were  a  race  of  naked 
savages,  woad-painted,  and  semi-cannibalistic.  Twenty-one 
centuries  ago,  when  he  saw  them,  they  cultivated  com,  gathered 
their  sheaves  into  barns,  and  there  threshed  them  ;  made  drinks 
of  wheat  and  honey,  still  known  as  mead,  and  of  barley,  then 
called  curmiy  still  called  cwnv.  Not  long  after  his  departure 
they  struck  coins,  modelled  upon  those  Grecian  ones  in  fashion  in 
the  time  of  Pytheas.  So  much,  then,  for  the  **  wild-in-woods-the- 
noble-savage-ran  "  theory  of  silly  or  unprincipled  scribblers  of 
history  falsely  so  called.  We  have  no  space  to  follow  Professor 
Rhys  to  much  greater  length.  We  must  not,  however,  leave 
him  without  saying  that  his  chapter  on  Britain  previous  to  the 
Claudian  conquest  contains  much  that  is  controversial.  His 
statement  that  "  there  is  no  evidence  that  Druidism  was  ever 
the  religion  of  any  Brythonic  people"  will  be  furiously  dis- 
puted in  many  quarters.  lolo  and  Ab  Ithel  are  long  since 
dead,  Myfyr  Morganwg  is  too  old  to  take  up  the  cudgels,  but 
there  are  younger  spirits  left  upon  whom  the  mantles  of  the 
departed  worthies  have  fallen,  and  against  these — we  do  not  mean 
the  mantles — let  Professor  Rhys  keep  a  sharp  look-out.  They  carry 
cudgels.  The  work  is  a  most  valuable  one  in  its  own  field,  and 
no  Welsh  library  should  be  without  a  copy.  It  is  well  and 
carefully  printed  and  got  up,  and  contains  a  couple  of  very 
good  maps  and  several  cuts  of  coins.  Its  cheapness  is  also  a 
great  recommendation,  the  price,  we  believe,  being  only  3s.  6d* 
Origines  Celticcey  a  Fragment^  and  other  contributions  to  the 
History  of  Britain.  By  Edwin  Guest,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.,  F.R.S., 
&c.  2  vols.  London  :  Macmillan  &  Co. — Mrs.  Guest,  of  Sandford 
Park,  has  done  good  service  to  the  world,  and  the  very  best 
service  possible  to  the  memory  of  the  distinguished  scholar,  her 
late  husband,  by  collecting  and  publishing  the  most  important 
of  his  contributions  to  early  Celtic  history.  The  savans  of  the 
Principality  will  remember  Dr.  Guest  by  his  disputes  with 
Stephens,  the  author  of  the  Liter aixir^  of  tKe  K'\Jfa'n^^^^:^'^ 
various  points  of  Celtic  antiquity.  StepYveiis  ^«ls  ^  e^x^'l>3^^\f«^'«^^ 
taking  writer^  possessed  of  the  critical  ?acM\l^  ^o  ^  c«\vkv^««^!^^^ 


462        MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBEAEY  BOOKS. 

extent,  and  also  of  a  judicious  mind,  which  enabled  him  to  weigh 
probabilities  and  strike  a  tolerably  accurate  balance  very  often 
under  the  most  diflBcult  of  circumstances.  In  point  of  scholar- 
ship, however,  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  he  was  Dr.Guest's  equal, 
and  Dr.  Guest  had  the  further  advantage  of  being  able  to  take 
a  dispassionate  view  of  subjects  which  Stephens  handled  rather 
as  an  advocate  than  as  a  judge.  While  one  of  these  men 
analysed,  the  other  pleaded,  and  this  was,  perhaps,  the  most 
marked  difference  between  them.  In  the  reprints  from  the 
Archwologia  Cariibrensw^  given  in  the  second  volume  of  the 
present  work,  we  seem  to  see  the  giants  fighting  their  battles 
o'er  again.  "  The  statements  of  this  gentleman,"  says  Dr.  Guest 
in  reference  to  Stephens,  "are  often  so  strangely  inaccurate, and 
his  reasoning,  at  least  to  my  mind,  so  inconclusive  that  I  am 
unwilling  to  adopt  him  as  the  exponent  of  my  o>mi  views  on  the 
subject."  Dr.  Guest  may  be  thought  just  a  shade  too  bitter 
here,  but  it  should  be  remembered  in  his  favour  that  he  was 
labouring  in  a  field  in  which  he  was  prtictically  facile pHnceps. 
The  author  of  the  HiHtory  of  Evgliah  Rhythma  had  shown 
himself  to  be  possessed  of  something  more  than  a  smattering  of 
Celtic  lore :  he  had  warm  Celtic  sympathies,  developed  alter 
deeji  study  of  the  history  and  antiquities  of  tlie  race,  and  when 
he  found  himself  crossed  at  one  point  by  a  diUetante  Welsh 
scholar  like  Wright,  and  at  another  by  the  very  man  who  he 
considered  should  have  been  fighting  by  his  side  in  most  of  the 
])ositions  he  wished  to  (;arry,  it  was  no  great  wonder  to  see  him  lose 
for  a  moment  the  natural  equipoise  of  his  temper.  Let  us  take 
one  example.  The  subject  under  discussion  was  the  "  Fall  of 
Uriconium,"  and  in  dealing  with  Lly^arch  Hen's  Mai^wnad 
(tllegy)  after  that  event,  Wright  went  to  considerable  pains  in 
an  attempt  to  prove  that,  so  far  from  having  been  written  by 
Llywarch  in  the  sixth  century,  the  Mai^miad  was  the  work  of 
soiue  other  Welsh  minstrel  eight  or  nine  hundred  years  later. 
Here  Dr.  Guest  had  the  critic  fairly  on  the  hip,  for  be  was 
fighting  him  with  weapons  of  which  he  was  a  complete  master. 
In  the  bout  over  the  antiquity  of  the  Triban  Milivr,  in  which 
the  Manvnad  was  written  and  which  Wright  maintained  to  be 
a  form  of  verse  only  introduced  by  the  Normans  in  the  twelfth 
century,  Dr.  Guest  dealt  his  opjwnent  a  series  of  crushing 
blows.  And  while  striking  Wright  in  front,  he  took  Stephens 
in  flank  in  most  brilliant  style : — "  I  have  had  a  good  deal  to  do 
with  English  and  Norman  rhythms,"  wrote  Dr.  Guest  with  quiet 
emphasis,  "  but  have  not  yet  succeeded  in  finding  the  Norman 
rhythm  which  could  have  given  birth  to  the  triban  mUwr. 
The  triban  milwr  is  the  oldest  known  form  of  Celtic  versifica- 
tion, and,  as  I  have  ventured  to  state  elsewhere,  probably 
suggested  the  use  of  final  rhyme  to  the  I^atinists  of  the  third 
and  fourth  centuries,  who  first  introduced  it,  and  most  of  whom 
were  Celts  by  birth."    This  is  unanswerable ;  at  least  Mr.Wrigbt 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS.         463 

has  never  attempted  to  answer  it,  as  far  as  we  are  aware.    The 
hit  at  Stephens  is  found  a  sentence  or  two  further  on,  where  the 
author  of  the  Literature  of  the  Kyviry  is  convicted  of  a  mistake 
in  regard  to  the  location  of  the   Juvencus  MS.,  in  which  were 
found  those  Welsh  stanzas  written  in  the  triban  milivr  whose 
antiquity  Wright  had  impugned.  The  tribanauyrere  discovered  by 
Lhuyd,  who,  according  to  Stephens,  refers  the  MS.  to  the  seventh 
century ;  which  is,  however,  a  mistake,  for  what  Lhuyd  has  said 
of  the  verses  is  that  he  discovered  them,  written  in  an  Irish  hand 
on  goat  skin,  "  about  a  thousand  years  ago,"  the  reference  being 
to  the  date  of  that  particular  MS.,  and  not  to  the  date  at  which 
the  tribanau  themselves  were  originally  written.      Stephens  is 
also  incorrect  in  assigning  to  Zeuss  the  opinion  that  the  MS. 
dated  from  the  eighth  century.      Zeuss,  who   himself  never 
saw  the  MS.,  speaks  of  the  tt^anau  as  exhibiting  construe- 
iionis    metricae    comTnuneTn  faciem    Celticam,   et  apecialem 
Tnevioratam    Cambi^am^    and,   moreover,  primam    linguae 
Cambricae   aetatem    acriptione    et  formie   grammaticalibus 
prodentes.     Further  than   this  Zeuss   is   said   never  to  have 
ventured  an  opinion.     Villemarque,  in  his  Notices  des  MSS. 
5re^cwi«,  pronounces  the  writing  to  be  as  early  as  the  beginning 
of  the  ninth  century ;  but  neither  he,  nor  Lhuyd,  nor  Zeuss 
ventured  a  guess  at  the  age  of  the  matter  written.     Throughout 
this  and  the  following  papers   Dr.   Guest  goes  on,  now  falling- 
foul   of  Stephens,   now   pitting  him    against  Wright,  always 
crossing  the  latter  on  a  point  of  geography,  history,  ethnology, 
or  philology.     Wright  was  so  "hufifed — "  at  least,  so  his  own 
words  lead  us  to  think,   although   Dr.   Guest   suggests  quite 
another  reason — that  he  refused  to  reply  to  the  attack.     So 
much    for   a    now    nearly    forgotten,    but    once    very  lively, 
antiquarian    controversy.      The   remainder   of  this  volume  is 
taken  up  with   papers  on   "  The  Invasion  of  Britain  by  Julius 
Caesar,"  and  "  The  Campaign  of  Aulus  Plautus,"  each  illustrated 
with  a  map,  as  indeed  is  ahnost  every  other  essay  in  the  volume 
which  is  full  of  matter  invaluable  to  the  student  of  early  Welsh 
history.     There  is  not  a  chapter  in  it  that  we  could  advise  the 
student  to  miss,  but  if  there  is  one  more  than  another  which  we 
would  especially  like   him  to  read,  it  is  that  on  "  The  Belgic 
Ditches  and  the  probable   date   of   Stonehenge";  this  or  the 
fragment  on  "The  Welsh  Triads,"  the  subject  being  in  each 
case  one  that  appeals  to  the  imagination,  and  Dr.  Guest's  treat- 
ment imparting  to  it  much  of  the  charm  of  a  romance.     The 
editors  of  the   work  have    done  their    part    admirably,    and 
practised  readers  will  imderstand  what  we  mean  when  we  tell 
them  that  both  the  introductory  matter  and  the  index  are  just 
what  they  should  be.     Of  the  general  get-up  of  the  volumes  it 
would  be  difficult  to  speak  too  highly,  ^nd  N\e^  \i)ci«tQ.  YOL^^^oa^j- 
ever  light  we  may,  they  will  be  {ouud  cjel  oraaxaffoX*  V»  «ks 
library^ 


GOSSIP   i-ROM  THE    AVELSH    COLLEGES. 


JESUS  COLLEGE,  OXFORD. 
GWELL  DVS(i  Na  Golud. 

St.  David's  Day  dawned  brightly* 
and  the  chapel  wns  fairly  filled  with 
leck-loviiig  Uinlergraduntes;.  As 
fuch  let  of  March  comes  rouiiil,  th** 
leeks  seem  to  increase  in  size ;  this 
yeiir  they  were  simply  prodigious.  I 
measured,  out.  of  curiosity,  the  one 
which  my  scout  had  fastened  to  the 
.  tiisNel  of  my  "  aquare,"  and  found 
that,  including  root  and  leaves,  it 
*  no  loss  than  three  feet  eight 
inches  in  length.  I  certainly  found 
a  weighty  ornament.  At  the 
.  gateway  I  noticed  a  crowd,  pre- 
sumably of  the  cynical  Sjieson, 
looking  on  curiousty  at  this  quaint  old  custom  of  centuries 
ago.  A  year  ago  1  spoke  sorrowfully  on  this  subject,  believing 
that  the  links  which  bound  us  to  our  coimtry  were  one  by 
one  being  scveretl — to-day  1  s]>eak  hopefully.  Though 
nothing  can  restore  to  us  our  lost  scholarships,  and  I  do 
not  know  that  we  desert  them  now,  we  have  again  heard 
the  sweet  music  of  our  mother  tongue  within  our  chapel 
walls.  We  have  establisheci  a  Welsh  Debate,  and  have  held 
with  enthusiasm  and  success  what  we  trust  will  be  but  the  first 
of  many  a  happy  gathering  of  the  "  Sons  of  the  Hills."  AVith 
this  last,  my  letter  has  iirincijially  to  deal. 

Through  the  indefatigable  exertions  of  Professor  Rhys  and 
his  committee  a  Welsh  National  Banquet,  at  the  Clarendon 
Hotel,  closed  the  celebration  of  the  feast  of  St.  Dewi,at  Oxford. 
It  was  the  first  of  the  kind  that  the  Cymru  have  ever  held 
within  the  precincts  of  their — peculiarly  their  own — University, 
which  Alempbric,  a  British  king,  says  Professor  Holland,  had 
founded  nearly  2,000  years  ago.  More  than  a  hundred  of 
Cambria's  sons  were  there,  from  the  grey  old  don  to  the  yontb- 
iol  freshman,  who  had  only  left  school  at  midsummer.     Erery 


GOSSIP  FROM  THE  W^ELSH  COLLEGES.         465 

part  of  the  Principality, "  from  Conway's  Ford  to  Severn's  Flood," 
and  even  England,  Scotland,  Ireland  too  had  sent  their 
representatives  to  swell  the  gathering  of  the  Cymru  within  the 
confines  of  classic  Oxford,  which  has  prepared  so  many  of  them 
for  noble,  useful  lives. 

On  the  banquet  itself,  as  far  as  the  nienw  is  concerned,  I  will 
not  dwell.  The  hostess  had  caught  the  pervading  spirit  of  the 
day,  and,  amongst  other  good  things,  had  provided  us  with  leek 
soup,  Welsh  mutton.  Sir  Watkin  Wynn  pudding  and  Welsh 
rarebit,  all  of  which  were  essentially  Welsh,  alike  in  name  and 
character. 

The  author  of  The  Epic  of  Hades  presided,  supported  by 
Professors  Rhys,  Holland,  Wedgewood,  Tout,  the  Dean  and  the 
Vice-Principal  of  Jesus,  Dr.  Freeman,  the  heads  of  Llandovery, 
Brecon  and  Ruthin  Schools,  and  many  other  names  well  known 
in  Wales,  which  my  readers  will  have  seen  in  extenso  in  the 
Western  MaiVs  report.  Of  speeches  we  had  quite  a  score,  some 
long,  some  short,  some  flowery,  some  prosaic — in  fact,  of  all 
kinds.  Undoubtedly  the  speech  of  the  evening  was  Professor 
Rhys's.  I  never  heard  a  cleverer  or  more  witty  one.  This,  too, 
your  readers  will  have  seen  in  the  Western  Maily  which  was,  I 
believe,  represented  by  an  old  and  valued  contributor — Morien. 
We  had  good  speeches,  too,  on  Welsh  education  from  the  chair- 
man and  the  heads  of  Brecon  and  Llandovery,  of  welcome  from 
the  Vice-Principal  of  Jesus,  and  on  Nationality  in  general  from 
Dr.  Freeman,  with  an  excellent  Welsh  speech  from  Mr.  T.  F. 
Roberts,  of  St.  John's  College. 

During  dinner,  at  intervals.  Sir  Watkin's  white  haired  old 
harpist  gave  some  ably  executed  and  tastefully  chosen  pieces 
of  National  music,  which  obtained  the  applause  they  merited. 

All  the  guests  wore  the  National  Emblem — a  pretty  little  silk 
leek — in  their  button-hole ;  one,  more  patriotic  than  the  rest,  I 
saw  with  a  real  one,  and  he  sat  the  whole  evening  listening  to 
the  speeches  and  patiently  enduring  the  odour  of  the  not  too 
savoury  plant. 

An  interesting  feature  in  the  evening's  entertainment  was 
the  reception  of  a  telegram  from  the  Welshmen  holding  a 
National  banquet  at  Cambridge,  congratulating  us  on  our 
success,  and  proposing  to  drink  to  us  at  9.30  the  toast  "  Cymru 
am  byth."  We  replied,  and  at  the  hour  named  drank  "  To  our 
Compatriots  at  Cambridge,"  amid  great  enthusiasm ;  the  banquet 
closed  at  twelve,  all  rising  and  singing  lustily  "  Hen  wlad  fy 
Nhadau." 

The  outbreak  of  scarlet  fever  which  I  spoke  of  in  my  March 
letter  has  happily  passed  away,  satisfied  with  the  sacrifice  of  one 
bright  young  life,  so  that  on  the  whole  we  may,  I  think, 
congratulate  ourselves  that  things  have  not  been  worse. 

Mr.  Arthur  Williams,   of  Corpus  Christi  College,  has  beetL 

E  £ 


466  GOSSIP  FROM' THE  AVEI^SH  COLLEGES. 

elei^ted  Treasurer  of  the  I'nion  Society.  He  is  a  tbomugh 
going  Welshman  in  all  respects,  and  we,  his  compatriots,  expect 
great  tilings  of  him. 

The  Kev.  J.  K.  Green,  Lambeth  Librarian,  I  am  sorrj-  to  hear, 
is  (lead.  He  wan  an  Honorary  Fellow  of  Jesus,  and  an 
exL'eedingly  well-read  and  clever  man. 

We  have  heard  with  great  pleasure  the  result  of  the  laudable 
contest  between  Cardiff  and  Swansea.  Tliat  the  capital  and 
cathedral  city  should  naturally  be  the  proper  site  for  an 
University  seema  evident  to  most  of  us  here  who  take  an 
interest  in  the  welfiire  of  Welsh  education. 


UM\^RSITV   COLLEGE    OF   WALES,   ABERYST^VYTH. 


The  work  of  Lent  Term  practi- 
cally ended,  though  we  did  not 
leave  for  the  Easter  holidays  till 
1I>^  some  days  after,  on  the  I7th  of 
March,  when  the  annual  Athletic 
Sjwrts  were  held.  The  success  of 
the  sports  was  thought  certain; 
^  we  had  the  experience  of  two 
'..f'  previous  years,  the  ignorant  crj" 
'riigainst  them  had  subsided,  we 
'  had  men  who  would  look  to 
■  advantage  on  the  field,  and  in 
\  William  Lewis  we  had  a  secretary 
that  we  knew  would  do  his  work 
thoroughly  and  well.  Tlie  weather  turned  out  to  be  extremely 
unfavourable,  and  until  they  heard  the  band  marching  down 
to  the  field,  the  townspeople  were  in  doubt  whether  the 
sportti  would  be  held  that  day  at  all.  The  comj>etitors  for 
the  prizes  were  not  therefore  cheered  by  the  presence  of  as 
great  a  concourse  of  spectators  as  usual.  Still  the  lo%'e  of 
seeing  the  contests  proved  stronger  to  many  than  the 
thought  of  the  bitterly  cold  wind,  and  a  fair  number,  including 
a  good  sprinkling  of  ladies,  made  their  appearance  on  the  Geld. 
The  Lampeter  students  had  heen  invited  to  contend  in  five 
events,  and,  ceftainly,  the  most  exciting  event  throughout  wa« 
the  very  first  one,  when  two  well-known  runners  were  expected, 
not  only  to  see  to  their  own  &me,  but  to  remember  that  they 
belonged  to  different  colleges.  This  was  the  hundred  yards 
lace,  and  though  it  occupied  but  a  little  over  ten  seconds,  yet 
like  (1  short  career  in  life,  full  of  gloving  deeds,  it  b 


GOSSIP  FROM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES.        467 

have  taken  a  much  longer  time.  Lampeter  was  represented  by 
D.  P.  Jones,  Aberystwyth  by  A.  C.  Davies.  Davies  had  a  very 
bad  start,  but  passed  Jones  in  the  middle  of  the  course  and 
seemed  sure  to  win,  when  his  foot  was  observed  to  slip  within 
about  fifteen  yards  of  the  goal ;  here  Jones  passed  him,  and 
though  their  breasts  touched  the  tape  almost  simultaneously, 
what  difference  there  was  lay  clearly  in  favour  of  the  Lampeter 
man.  The  event  ranging  next  in  interest  was  the  mile  race, 
when  T.  Davies  and  Watkins,  still  Lampeter  and  Aberystvfytli, 
had  prizes  of  equal  value.  All  the  events  were  evidently 
greatly  enjoyed,  and  all  but  the  bicycle  race  had  been  ended 
when  a  snow-storm  came  on. 

Denunciations  of  all  this  as  sinful  and  demoralising  may 
be  seen  again  this  year  in  corners  of  certain  newspapers,  like 
the  dying  embers  of  the  indignant  fire  which  burnt  so  fiercely 
at  the  introduction  of  the  sports,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  can 
not  see  any  influence  of  theirs  on  a  student's  mind  but  what 
is  ennobling.  The  grace  and  elegance  of  the  walking  of 
L.  C.  Thomas,  or  the  running  of  Davies,  or  the  beautifully  neat 
jumping  of  young  F.  W.  Lewis,  seemed  to  me  to  give  as  pure  a 
pleasure  as  seeing  a  proposition  elegantly  proved,  or  a  question 
in  literature  finely  answered. 

The  number  of  the  new  students  at  the  beginning  of  next 
term  will  be  swelled  by  Brecon  theological  students.  It  is  rather 
surprising  that  more  Welsh  Theological  Colleges  have  not  taken 
this  wise  step,  for  it  is  im]^K)ssible  for  two  or  three  men,  be  they 
the  finest  teachers  out,  to  teach  theology  and  an  arts  course 
which  here  takes  ten  men  to  do.  Here  theological  students 
would  get  the  secular  knowledge  made  so  absolutely  necessary 
by  the  rapid  progress  of  learning ;  here  they  would  learn  from 
the  characters  of  the  students  from  all  parts  of  the  country 
what  the  needs  of  the  country  are;  and  to  this  secular 
knowledge  and  that  knowledge  most  vitally  important  to  a 
minister  of  religion,  a  knowledge  of  his  fellows,  the  various 
sectarian  Colleges  might  add  a  theological  knowledge  which 
would  make  the  men  they  turned  out  mighty  powers  for  good. 

Mr.  Henry  Jones,  our  lecturer  in  Moral  Philosophy,  has  been 
appointed  to  an  examinership  for  the  degree  of  M.A.  at  the 
University  of  Glasgow. 

April  nth,  1883.  0.  M.  E. 


E  E  2 


OUR  "RED  DRAGON'S"  AT  AVESTMINSTER. 


Another  month  has  been  added  to  the  Parliamentary  roll  of 
the  Session,  which  is  now  some  "nine  moons  wasted." 
Members  have  enjoyed  or  not  enjoyed  their  Easter  holidays. 
They  have  run  up  the  Greenwich  hill  of  legislative  recreation, 
and  they  have  run  down  again.  They  have  metaphorically 
devoured  hard-boiled  eggs  in  very  lightness  of  heart ;  and  have 
grinned  at  all  the  world  through  the  proverbial  horse-collar — 
a  pretty  exercise  for  gentlemen  of  such  facial  flexibility  as  Mr. 
Biggar,  Mr.  I>abouchere  and  jNIr.  Warton.  The  business  of  the 
Session  has  been  resumed,  and  though  a  large  number  of  hou. 
gentlemen  have  tarried  beyond  the  holiday  limits  prescribed  by 
Mr.  Gladstone,  yet  sufficient  have  returned  to  impart  a  business- 
like aspect  to  the  Chamber.  Nevertheless,  Parliament,  which 
has  been  in  Session  two  months,  has  contributed  but  one 
measure  to  the  Statute  Book,  this  being  the  Consolidated  Fund 
Bill,  or  some  financial  Bill  of  that  ilk.  It  has,  however, 
contributed  an  almost  unimralleled  flood  of  i)rofitless  **  talk  "  to 
the  reservoir  of  verbosity — responsible  and  irresponsible.  1 
hate  Committees,  whether  Special,  Select,  or  Grand ;  because  I 
look  upon  these  resources  of  a  Government  in  distress,  or  of  a 
party  wliich  has  an  "  ism  "  to  habilitate,  as  devices  for  eflfecting 
nothing.  Next  to  the  Parliamentary  petition  they  are  the 
most  perfect  of  our  Parliamentary  delusions.  The  question. 
What  becomes  of  the  thousands  of  petitions  which  are 
presented  to  Parliament  yearly  ?  opens  up  a  vista  of  mystery  an 
profound  as  the  question  where  do  all  the  lost  shirt  buttons  go, 
and  where  does  the  Prince  of  Wales  put  all  the  addresses  which 
loyal  municipalities  have  showered  upon  him  from  one  year's 
end  to  another.  That  the  petitions  which  represent  such  a 
whirlwind  of  local  fervour  are  consigned  to  a  place  ^  paved  with 
goods  intentions  "  is,  I  think,  an  admission  which  most  nearly 
affords  a  solution  of  the  mystery.  That  the  wights,  enthusiastic 
and  optimist,  who  address  their  ^^ prayers"  to  Uiis  ^Honourable 
House  "  ever  derive  the  least  advantage  from  their  appeals  is  a 
point  that  will  not  admit  of  discussion.  The  petition  bag  hangs 
behind  the  Speaker's  Chair.  It  is  of  black  leather  and  of 
colossal  proportions)  "Uned  ml\i  ^  ^%^  v^  \&d»8ftxnctible  doUu 


OUR  «  EED  DRAGONS  "  AT  WESTMINSTER.     46^ 

Hon.    members    ram    their    petitions    into    this    wide-jawed 
receptacle — that  is  if  they  are  not  too  large  to  be  got  into  it. 
In  that  case  they  are  "  trundled  "  out  by  a  grey-bearded  old 
Charon,  who  ferries  them  across  the  Stygian  Stream — whither? 
Those  which  are  small  enough  are  got  into  it  somehow.     I  have 
seen  a  f)rocession  of  members  file  round  the  Speaker's  Chair,  or 
emerge  like  conspirators  from  the  seditious  gloom  which  reigns 
behind   that   historic   throne,   and   contribute   their   "  sops  to 
Cerberus."     I  have  seen  Mr.  Dillwyn,  Mr.  Richard,  Sir  E.  Reed, 
Sir  J.  Jones  Jenkins,  Sir  H.  Hussey  Vivian,  Viscount  Emlyn, 
Mr.  C.  H.  James,  Mr.  John  Roberts,  &c.,  "  petition  the  House  " 
in  this  blank  and  formal  fashion.     The  worthy  souls  who  with 
sputtering  pens  a])pend  their  signatures  to  the  neatly  written 
adjuration  to  do  what  is  right  or  not  to  do  what  is  wrong,  fancy 
— so  I  have  heard — that  their  names  are  examined  by  an  awe- 
stricken  House.     Delusion  this  I  assure  all  petitioners  actual 
and   potential,   past   and"  to  come.     Why,  the  "forms  of  the 
House  "  even  forbid  the  reading  of  the  petition  which  has  been 
'*  got  up  "  after  such  expenditure  of  labour  and  cost,  if  not  with 
such  manoBUvring  and  chicanery.     The  hon.  member  entrusted 
with  this  dernier  ressort  of  a  desperate  faction  or  a  community 
all  agog,  is  obliged  to  give  only  the  substance  of  the  memorial, 
and  a  pretty  muddle  he  contrives  sometimes  to  make  of  the 
operation.      "  Members,"  quoth   Mr.   Joseph   Cowen,  in   com- 
menting upon  the  various  contradictory  versions  given  of  the 
famous   expulsion   of  Mr.  Bradlaugh,  "  make  poor  reporters." 
I  may  add  that  the  art  oi  precis  speaking  is  an  accomplishment 
which  in  a  rhetorical  sense  is  unfortunately  attended  by  the 
same  disqualification,  yet  even  the  dull  fonnality  of  summarising, 
without    reading,   the   contents    of    a    petition   is   frequently 
departed  from  by  members  who  are  satisfied  to  thrust  the  precious 
roll    "  in  the   ba-ag,"   and   trust   to    Haiiaard  or   the    Times 
reporter  for  making  the  gracious  service  known  to  the  parties 
concerned.     I  have  even  seen  a  young  and  sporting  member  play 
"  pitch-and-toss,"   or  their   equivalent,   with  a  petition.     The 
Tiwdua  opei^andi  of  the  juvenile  legislator  is  to  stand  with  his 
hack  to  the  Speaker's  parlour,  and  make  scientific  "pots"  at  the 
grinning  jaws   of  the   "ba-ag."     There   is   a   story  that  Mr. 
Chaplin,  during  an  off  week  in  the  racing  season,  "  bet "  Mr. 
Dick  Peddie  something  that  he  would  land  a  petition  in  favour 
of  Protection  in  the  bag,  before  the  other  could  "  place  "  one  for 
the  disestablishment  of  the  Kirk  o'  Scotland.     The  two  hon. 
members  (Mr.  Peddie  having  taken  the  bet)  tried  their  skill, 
and  the  Scotch  Chiu*ch  fell  into  the  bag  without  Protection. 
Mr.  Chaplin  paid  his  stakes  like  a  true  sportsman,  and  that 
night  Mr.  John  Dick  Peddie  entertained  a  few  Scotch  members 
to  a  Scotch  haggis  at  the  Cafe  Monico,  and  finished  up  at  the 
Trocadero.    The  three  hon.  gentlemen,  if  not  disestablished^  disL 


470     OUE  "RED  DRAGONS"  AT  WESTMINSTER. 

not  come  out  of  their  revel  without  being  disendoived.  And 
all  this  was  the  result  of  playing  pitch-and-toss  with  petitions 
destined  for  presentation  to  Parliament. 

I  am,  however,  digressing.  I  was  about  to  remark  that 
though  I  hate  Committees  of  all  kinds,  believing  them  to  be  a 
conspiratorial  mode  of  adjusting  difficulties,  I  am  yet  inclined 
to  support  the  suggestion  of  Sir  John  Jones  Jenkins.  The  hon. 
knight  proposes  that  a  Committee  should  be  appointed  to  ]>ass 
the  Bills,  whilst  the  rest  of  the  House  revelled  in  what  Lord 
Randolph  Churchill  would  probably  call  the  "  profligacy  "  of 
talk.  Diu'ing  the  month  there  has  been  a  good  deal  of  "  talk," 
and  it  has  been  of  a  somewhat  mixed  character  withal,  since 
Liberal  members  have  been  preaching  doctrines  which  Con- 
servatives practice.  For  example,  we  have  had  Mr.  Jacob 
Bright  committing  the  House  of  Commons  to  stand  firm,  even 
to  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  against  permitting  any  part  of  the 
Congo  territory  to  be  annexed  to  any  Power  whatsoever.  This 
resolution  was  supported  by  Conservatives  as  well  as  by  Liberals, 
and  amongst  the  latter  who  bared  his  arm  and  girded  up  his 
loins  was  ilr.  Henry  Richard.  Again  we  have  had  the  House 
dividing  on  a  resolution  to  commit  the  Government  to  provide 
sixpenny  telegrams,  and  this  resolution,  which  was  carried 
against  the  Government,  was  moved  by  a  Radical  and  seconded 
by  a  Conservative.  The  Conservative  lion  in  this  case  was  Mr. 
Puleston,  who,  though  sitting  for  an  English  borough,  takes  a 
deep  interest  in  the  afifairs  of  the  Principality,  serves  it  where- 
ever  practicable,  and  may  fairly  be  called  a  Welsh  member 
vmattached.  Mr.  Puleston  seems  to  me  to  represent  that 
felicitous  harmony  of  politics  which  gracefully  and  usefully 
blends  all  that  is  good  in  the  programme  of  one  party  with  all 
that  is  beneficial  in  the  i^rogramme  of  its  rivals.  The  hon. 
gentleman  does  not  subscribe  to  the  ferocious  propaganda  that 
no  good  can  come  out  of  the  Nazareth  of  Gladstonianism.  Thus, 
without  abating  one  jot  of  his  loyalty  to  Sir  StaflFord  Northcote, 
he  can  with  perfect  consistency  support  or  initiate  Liberal 
measures.  It  has  been  prophesied  that  some  day  a  political 
millennium  will  reign  over  these  islands,  when  the  hatchet  of 
party  rivalry  shall  be  buried,  and  the  rule  of  life  will  be 
**  measures,  not  men."  If  I  wanted  to  find  a  possible  early 
example  of  the  feasibility  of  such  an  Arcadian  state  I  should 
instinctively  point  to  the  genial  and  independent  gentleman 
who  sits  for  Devonport  and  does  not 

Clive  up  to  party  what  was  intended  for  mankind. 

I  have  heard  that  Mr.  Puleston  is  respected  equally  by  Liberals 
and  by  Conservatives,  and  that  whilst  he  is  as  true  as  steel  to  the 
principles  of  his  own  party,  he  does  not  look  at  those  of  the 
faction  opposite  with  the  immovable  hostility  of  a  one-eyed  and 


OUR  "RED  DRAGONS"  AT  WESTMINSTER.      471 

inflexible  Toryism.    I  cannot  but  think  that  if  the  Liberals  had 
a  few  of  such  men  in  their   ranks,  and  the  Conservatives  were 
better  supplied  witli  them,  the  country  would  be  better  off, 
because  the  composition  of  the  Statute  Book  would  proceed  at 
a  better  pace.     Mr.  Puleston  must  obviously  be  a  hard  nut  for 
your  wire-pulling,  place-hunting  Radical  to  crack — ^^justthe  man 
to  confound  the  mana^uvres  of  the  local  Four  Hundred,  and 
otherwise  upset  the  calculations  of  the  Caucus.     Tlien  we  had 
Mr.  Rylands,  who  last  night  sailed  down  up(m  the  Grovernment 
with  a  resolution  condemnatory  of  their  extravagance.  Peter  of 
Burnley,  as  his  friends  love  to  designate  the  hon.  gentleman,  is 
an  Economist  of  the  most  uncompromising  character,  and  yet  I 
have    seen    this    Draco  of    Retrenchment  vote  for   war,  and, 
apparently,  like  the  doing  of  it.     Retrenchment,  however,  has 
been  Mr.  Rylands'  Pegasus  for  years,  but  it  was  certainly  some- 
thing new  and  altogether  delightful  to  his  mind  to  find  himself 
curvetting  and  caracoling,  amid  the  cheers,  not  of  those  who  sit 
with  him,  but  of  those  who  sit  opposite  to  him  and  the  Treasury 
Bench.      There   is    no  doubt   that  Conservative   patronage    is 
occasionally  most  refreshing  to  your  Radical ;  it  braces  him  up 
like  a  tonic.     One  may  be  sorry  to  see  our  Radicals  so  weak,  but 
the   discovery    is   useful,   as  proving  that    all    the    "  human 
nature  "  is  not  confined  to  the  occupants    of  the   Opposition 
Benches.  Mr.  Gladstone,  with  a  scientific  casuistry  which  makes 
him  a  master  of  the  art  of  manoeuvring,  adopted  Mr.  Rylands' 
resolution,  and  thus  cut  the  ground  from  under  the  f^et  of  his 
opponents,  by  admitting    that  the    national  expenditure  had 
exceeded   its  legitimate  limits. 

The  only  really  interesting  incident  of  the  month,  so  far  as 
Wales  is  concerned,  was  the  notice  of  motion  given  by  Mr. 
Dillwyn  to  effect  the  Disestablishment  of  the  Church  in  Wales. 
Wales  seems  to  be  playing  the  part  of  a  pioneer.  To  Welsh 
community  of  action  we  owe  the  adoption  of  Sunday  Closing 
south  of  the  Border.  Having  secured  so  much,  Mr.  Dillwyn 
thinks  Wales  might  very  properly  continue  the  good  work  by 
pulling  down  the  Church.  '*  How  would  Mr.  Dillwvn  like  some- 
one to  pull  down  his  house  ?'*  I  heard  a  Welsh  Tory  exclaim. 
There  are  political  nitro-glycerinists  inside  the  House  of 
Commons  as  well  as  in  that  city  of  mischief  which  acknowledges 
Mr.  Chamberlain  as  its  prince. 

A.   Pendragon. 

Hoicse  of  Commons,  April  Ith,  1883. 


LITERARY  AND  ART  NOTES  Of  THE  MONTH.  Ac. 


M.  D'Arbois  de  Jubainville,  professor  at  the  College  de 
France^  who  has  just  published  an  "  lutroduction  to  the  Study 
of  Celtic  Literature,"  has  in  the  press  an  experimental  catalogue 
on  the  epic  literature  of  Ireland. 

Mr.  John  Richard  Green,  ]\I.A.,  LL.D.,  died  March  7th,  at 
Mentone,  at  the  early  age  of  45.  Deceased  was  author  of  **  A 
Short  History  of  the  English  People,"  an  extraoiflinarily 
popular  work,  and  of  another,  more  complete  and  elaborate,  of 
a  similar  kind,  entitled  ''  The  Making  of  England."  He  was 
the  holder  of  an  English  foundation  at  the  Welsh  College  of 
Jesus,  at  Oxford.     He  was  buried  at  Mentone,  March  9th. 

In  a  review  of  Mr.  Friend's  "Glossary  of  Devonshire  Plant 
Names,"  the  Athenc^urn^  referring  to  the  "Thormantle  "  as  one 
of  the  herbivora  which  the  author  had  not  been  able  to  identifv, 
says  "  It  is  interesting  to  find  what  seems  to  be  a  tradition  of 
the  Teutonic  god  [Thor]  in  a  region  which  is  mainly  Celtii*." 
It  would  seem,  however,  that  the  person  at  fault  was  the 
reviewer,  and  not  the  author,  for  it  has  been  jK)inted  out  that 
the  "  Thormantle "  is  merely  a  corruption  of  Tormentil,  the 
TornientUla  erecta  of  Linnanis,  or  Potentilla  tormentiUa  of 
modem  botanists,  a  plant  used  in  Lapland  for  dyeing,  and 
elsewhere  for  tanning  purposes. 

At  the  meeting  of  the  Societ}'  of  Antiquaries,  held  Alarch 
8th,  Mr.  J.  Evans,  vice-president,  in  the  chair,  Air.  T.  North 
communicated  an  account  of  a  Eoman  milestone,  found  at 
Llanfairfechan  under  circumstances  detailed  in  the  Red  Dragon 
for  April. 

In  a  paper,  read  by  Mr.  A.  B.  Wyon  before  the  British 
Archjeological  Association,  "  On  the  Great  Seals  of  Henry  rV\, 
v.,  and  VI.,"  it  was  contended  that  a  figure  of  doubtful  import 
on  the  sinister  side  in  the  Great  8eal  of  the  first-named 
monarch  was  that  of  St.  Edmund  the  Martyr,  and  not  the 
British  King  Arthur,  as  had  been  frequently  stated.  Fine 
casts  of  all  the  seals  were  exhibited. 

At  a  sale,  by  Christie,  Manson  and  Woods,  of  the  works  of 
the  late  Mr.  E.  Duncan,  the  artist's  picture  of  *^  Worm's  Head^ 
Coast  of  Gower,"  fetched  £168. 


LITERARY   AND    ART   NOTES.  473^ 

Among  the  artists  engaged  in  the  production  of  Goring 
Thomas's  Esmeralda^  under  the  direction  of  Carl  Rosa,  in 
Easter  Week,  we  were  glad  to  notice  the  name  of  our  country- 
man, Mr.  Ben  Davies,  who  took  the  part  of  the  cracked  poet 
Pierre  Gringoire. 

INl.  L'Isle  D'Adam,  a  French  litterateur  of  much  talent  and 
more  craze,  has  just  discovered  that  Shakspeare  was  of  French 
descent,  a  forefather,  Jaques  Pierre,  being  a  refugee  French 
Huguenot  who  settled  at  Stratford  !  Professor  Morley,  it  will 
be  remembered,  maintains  that  the  Bard  of  Avon  had  Celtic 
blood  in  his  veins,  an  assertion  which  is  not  unsupported  by 
very  strong  evidence. 

What  the  St.  James's  Gazette  terms  "  a  brilliant  and  transpa- 
rently coloured  *View  in  Brecknockshire,'"  by  Miss  Mary 
Foster,  was  conspicuous  among  the  water-colours  recently 
exhibited  at  the  Great  Marlborough  Street  Gallery. 

The  Cardiff  Fine  Art  Association  held  its  exhibition  in  the 
Town  Hall  during  the  first  weeks  of  March.  The  show  was,  on 
the  whole,  a  fair  one. 

Cardiff  is  delighted  with  a  delight  only  equalled  by  the 
disgust  of  its  disappointed  rival,  Swansea,  at  the  decision  of 
Lord  Carlingford,  Lord  Bramwell,  and  Mr.  Mundella,  in  favour 
of  the  first-named  town  as  the  site  of  the  new  University  College 
for  South  Wales. 

The  Marquess  of  Bute  has,  through  Mr.  W.  Thomas  Lewis, 
presented  to  the  Cardiff  Free  Library  a  complete  set  of  the 
books  and  maps  published  by  the  Palestine  Exploration  Fund. 
These  include,  up  to  the  present.  Memoirs,  Vol.  1  and  2 ; 
Special  Paper,  one  vol. ;  Name  Lists,  one  vol. ;  Mr.  Trelawney 
Saunders'  work  on  the  "  Water  Basins,''  one  vol. ;  maps,  (1)  the 
large  one-inch  map  in  26  sheets  in  a  portfolio  ;  (2)  the  reduced 
map,  six  sheets  ;  (3)  ditto,  showing  the  water  basins  (Mr.  Tre- 
lawney Saunders')  ;  (4)  ditto,  illustrating  the  Old  Testament ; 
(5)  ditto.  New  Testament ;  all  mounted  on  cloth.  His  Lordship 
has  announced  his  intention  to  forward  the  other  publications 
of  the  'Society  as  they  are  issued. 

At  an  influential  and  well-attended  meeting,  convened  by 
the  Mayor  of  CardiflF(Mr.  G.  A.  Stone),  on  the  19th  of  March, 
it  was  resolved  to  procure  the  establishment  of  a  permanent 
gallery  and  schools  of  the  Royal  Cambrian  Academy  of  Art  in  the 
town.  This,  with  the  University  College,  one  of  the  speakers 
thought,  would  make  CardifiFnot  only  the  Athens, but  the  Florence 
of  the  Principality. 

We  rather  agree  with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  in  thinking  the 
Bibliophiles  will  be  sorry  to  hear  of  the  rank  heresy  just 
committed  by  one  of  the  Paris  courts  in  deciding  that  the 
value  of  a  book  must  be  held  to  consist  in  the  book  itself,  and 
not  in  its  associations  or  even  its  binding,    M.  Menard,  an 


-«  I  t 


I.ITKKAKY  AM>  AKT  NOTES. 


vr  iV;.:-:  ••:  lirli.  nhilr^,  had  insured  for  5,000f.  a  Fm 
"  r*  •  '<  r"  H  ■•;r<,"  w'  :,-:  h;iln'«  panioular  interest  in  iisc-lf 
i:  ■  .1  i  '■■'.:'.  K:i^' ".;-':.  :•  \v,.ul,l  have  been  different),  but  ^ 
b'V.  /:r  ;l'v  '  •  r.. :  i::  >  I  iii.^rxvo,  and,  moreover,  hud  a  lo 
:tv'  ..:  \\\'\.  •'..  ■  .lu'i  .:r.iph<  ^.^f  three  famous  persons — h 
\l\'.,  \\'.  »  ■.>..■  ::ivr::i  I'  r..  Maria  Theresa,  and  Bossuet,  i 
h.i  1  rr.T-V'l  :■:  iv^rw  •:■..'■  i.irt^r.  A  little  time  ag-o  there  wa 
'ire  i::  M.  ^l  :i -rl*-  li  riry.  The  binding  of  tli«*  '*  B*>ol; 
H'=ur<  ■  \v;w  la.i'.y  <.;.■:*  V,./d.  and  the  flyleaf  was  ooniplt' 
b;:r:uvi,  :\::V.ou5:::  rl.r-  ^.^.■k  irsrlf  wa>  uninjured.  AI.  Mer 
at  eiiv  aii'>  <i  f.T  i.:-  ..',OiH»f.,  but  the  company  refugee 
avv-ej'T  ;iT\y  :''^{-^:;>:bil->y  i".«:- t'lr  l^st  "  sorap  €>f  paper,"  am 
t"«'"  t!..^  !>'.  i  1  -.iiiiv..;,  ::..■'  was  ••  not  worth  twenty  crowns."  ' 
e.MivT  l.a-  :;  w  -ii;jv.v:,  d  tM<  p»hilistint»  view  of  the  ease, 
di-?ni-i>»d  A|,  M.  iiavil'-  a^tini  ai::iiust  the  eonipany. 

RelViiiri^  t  ^  ^\\r  ^.ap»r>  in  th^^  R*:d  Dratjon  for  iVIarch 
A|ril,  mriT.r  .i  "Srudirs  in  Lt-wis  Murris,"  a  l^Dndon  eor 
pondciu  writer :  1  was  ;'.^tt»nished  at  tirst  to  think  th.' 
L:r]uleii;a!i  -t' :1  •' iut^  lliiTt-nor' <.>f  the  K«*v.  ,1.  Cynddylan  J( 
sin'uld  :.:iv.'  rnti-rtained  ^o  \iry  \\\^\\  an  o]iiniMn  of  the  poel 
w«'ik  ()f  Mr.  hr\\i<  Morris.  1  ^luite  understand  wh\'  a  We 
mail  -^h-'ul.l  Iv  an\iou<  ti»  make  the  mo.>t  of  anything"  done 
a  r.«m]iatrioi  in  tht-  r'>ni::ut'  i»f  the  Saxon;  and  a  gocnl  dea 
laiiri'.di'  luav  W  allo\\od  as  l.iUi;  as  the  man  whi»  hiuds  conf 
his  i-.«in|»a!i>on<  !•>  nlur  writers  of  the  same  nation.  JKUit  w 
it  ("omrs  lo  eiMn|viri-i»n  with  Kuirlish  writers,  living  or  riead, 
i-ase  is  vtTv  ditVerL-ut,  and  tlatterv  i<  in  worse  than  bail  t.n 
The  as.sirii.>n<  tliai  "Mr.  L«'wis  ^hnris  is  one  of  the  bes 
eontemp«»rary  |»n»'ts,"  and  that  lie  ''may  be  ranked,  with 
ext-u^i'  ov  api^li^iry,  with  Tt^nnyson  and  drowning/"  are  Sfin 
ridiculous.  Thev  show  either  that  tho  writer  of  the  art 
knows  not  the  ditVerenee  between  good  })oetrv  and  bad,  or  t 
he  ha<  allowed  liis  feeliuijs  to  run  awav  with  his  rea: 
Whichevt-r  may  be  the  case,  he  proves  himself  an  utti 
incom])etent  critic.  So  that  you  may  see  in  what  esteem 
Lewis  Morris's  -poetry"  is  held  by  the  best  authorities 
Kngland,  I  c:dl  your  attention  to  a  recent  review  in  the  1 
Mall  (iaidte  <ni  Mr.  Want's  "  Livin««:  Knglish  Poets,'*  in 
course  of  which  tlie  writer  savs  of  sonu*  selections  made  by 
author  fnmi  Ihownin^,  that  they  su])ply  us  "with  an  infalli 
touchstone  by  which  to  test  a  mass  of  other  work  in  the  volu 
HoiV  th(»  use  of  it  shrivels  up  Mr.  Lewis  Morris's  pretensions 
a  i>lace  'amoni;  those  who  mav  reallv  bj*  called  in  anv  hi^h 
lasting  sens(*  poets'  I  How  forced  and  pompous  and  iucoi 
ijuent  the  Bishop  of  Derry's  "  Vision  of  Oxford  '  looks  besid« 
just  as  the  affected  mannerisms  of  such  a  poem  as  Mr.  Mi 
'Teneriffe' show  all  the  ni:)re  glaringly  because  of  their  c 
<-ontact  with  the   rich  and  lifjuid    beauty,   the    incom^tar 


LITERARY  AND   ART   NOTES.  475 

riglitness,  of '  Tithoniis '  or  '  Maud ' "  !  Indeed,  our  correspon- 
dent continues,  it  is  almost  the  universal  opinion  here  that  but 
for  the  outrageous  puff  given  it  by  Mr.  John  Bright,  who  enter- 
tains the  most  extraordinary  notions  on  the  subject  of  literature, 
the  JSpic  of  HadeSy  and  other  works  from  the  same  pen,  would 
have  fallen  considerably  flat. 

An  interesting  relic  of  old  Wales,  in  the  sluipe  of  a  Druidic 
Gwyddfa^  or  "  Place  of  Presence,"  surrounded  by  a  deep  moat, 
both  in  very  good  preser\'ation,  has  just  been  discovered  at 
Llantwit  Vardre,  on  the  estate  of  Dr.  Salmon,  Penlline,  Cow- 
bridge,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  to  the  east  of  the  parish  church, 
and  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  highway  at  Tonteg.  The 
outside  circumference  of  the  moat  is  160  paces,  and  the  summit 
of  the  mound  which  it  encircles  is  perfectly  flat  and  about 
20  yards  in  diameter. 

According  to  the  well-known  newspaper  correspondent, 
*'Morien,"  Dr.  Wm.  Price,  of  Pontyjn'idd,  holds  the  opinion 
that  the  builders  of  the  Pyramids  came  from  Caerphilly. 

Dr.  J.  Stradling  Came,  of  St.  Donat's  Castle,  hjis  just 
presented  to  the  Cardiff  Museum  a  most  interesting  collection 
of  local  antiquities,  Roman  and  geneml  coins,  and  other  objects. 
The  most  noteworthy  is  a  fine  Roman  bronze  figure  of  Mercury 
— one  of  the  Roman  penates.  Dr.  Carne  found  it  himself 
struck  up  by  the  tooth  of  a  harrow  at  work  in  the  lawn  in  front 
of  the  Castle.  It  is  in  exceedingly  good  condition,  and  is  of 
beautiful  workmanship.  The  old  seal  of  the  "  Blackfriars  of 
Cardiff,"  who  had  their  house  in  the  Castle  grounds  a  little  above 
Cardiff  Bridge,  was  also  found  by  Dr.  Carne  in  a  turnip  field  at 
Llantwit  ^lajor  in  1849,  and  lent  by  him  to  the  Rev.  J. 
Montgomery  Traheme,  who  described  it  before  the  Royal 
Society.  This  seal  has  undergone  many  vicissitudes.  Originally 
the  sigillum  of  the  Benedictine  Brotherhood  in  Cardiff,  in 
Wales,  it  had  fallen  into  vulgar  hands,  and  it  had  had  a  pin  and 
catch  soldered  to  the  back  of  it  and  been  used  as  a  brooch.  It 
was  then  probably  buried  with  the  wearer,  or  lost  in  the  old 
churchyard  of  St.  Mary's,  Cardiff.  It  next  got  mixed  with 
some  mfinure  in  a  yard  where  the  Royal  Hotel  Stables  now 
stand  in  Westgate-street,  and  was  from  there  carted  in  the 
manure  to  the  turnip  field  at  Llantwit,  where  Dr.  Came  picked 
it  up  34  years  ago. 

The  collection  of  coins  comprises: — 184  town  and  trade 
tokens,  in  fine  condition,  including  such  local  specimens  as  the 
Glamorgan  halfpenny,  the  Abergavenny  halfpenny,  the  Llan- 
twit Major  farthing,  and  Swansea,  Monmouth,  Carmarthen,  and 
Llanelly  tokens ;  thirteen  brass  and  ten  other  medals,  including 
a  very  fine  one  of  Frederick  the  Great ;  49  English  silver  coins, 
from  PMward  11.  to  William  IV. ;  and  69  English  copper  coins, 
some  of  them  local  finds;  22  foreign  silver,  and  118  foreign 


476  LITEKARY   AND   AKT   XOTE.<. 

copper  coins ;  and  last,  but  not  least,  34  Koman  silver  and  80 
Kotnan  copper  coins,  with  some  found  at  J^lantwit  Major, 
Cadoxton  (astle,  &c.,  making  a  total  of  oM  coins.  The  whole 
collection  may  now  be  inspected  at  the  Museum.  Trinity-street, 
Canliff.  At  a  meeting  of  the  Museum  Committee  a  si>ecial 
vote  of  thanks  was  j^assed  to  Dr.  Came  for  his  valuable  gift. 

Accordingf  to  tUe  Gaelic  Journal  (Dublin)  it  was  thought 
even  until  this  century  that  the  Hebrew  and  the  Irish  were 
kindred  languages,  l)ut  every  man  of  learning  now  knows  that 
these  languages  are  but  distantly  related  to  each  nther.  Ever}* 
scholar  also  knows  that  our  tongue  is  nearly  relatetl  to  the 
T^itin,  the  Greek,  the  Knglish  ;  to  the  tongues  of  (Jermany, 
France,  Spiiin.  Italy,  and  the  East  Indies.  Nearer  still  to  the 
Irish  are  the  Welsh,  and  the  dialect  of  Brittany,  in  Fnmce : 
and  there  is  very  little  difterence .  between  our  language  and 
that  spoken  by  the  peoph*  of  the  north  <»f  Scotland. 

A  Welsh  speaker,  at  a  recent  meeting  of  the  Hritish  and 
Foreign  Bible  Sr>cicty,  (leclared  there  is  not  a  single  infidel 
book  in  the  Welsh  language.  He  >aid : — ••  Wales  ia  pre- 
eminently the  land  of  one  l>ook.  We  owe  it  to  the  influence  of 
the  liible  that  we  have  not  a  single  infidel  Ix.xik  in  our  language, 
and  that  Popery  has  failed  hitherto  to  make  any  pp»gre.» 
among  the  pure  Welsh,  because  they  read  and  know  their  Bibles 
too  well.-' 

Our  old  contributor,  Mr.  John  Howell,  of  St.  At  bans,  has 
presented  to  the  Carditi*  Museum  a  fine  bronze  vase,  dug  up 
near  Naples  in  the  year  1840;  a  bronze  medallion  of  Chuulius 
Cflpsar,  a  Boman  bronze  thumb  ring,  a  bronze  ilagger,  and  two 
Me<lia'val  badges,  found  in  iligging  the  foundation  of  a  sixiji- 
boiling  establishment  at  Brentford,  Sliddlesex :  an  elegJint  littN- 
portable  dial,  made  in  Paris,  by  Ligne  de  Foy,  in  lo98,  which  is 
a  very  comj»lete  instrument,  showing  the  procession  of  the 
equinoxes,  the  rising  an«l  setting  of  the  sun,  the  age  of  the 
moon,  and  the  corrections  to  be  used  every  day  in  the  year 
to  obtain  correct  solar  time.  There  is  also  a  beautiful  example 
of  the  medal  struck  in  Kome  to  commemorate  the  birth  of 
Charles  Edward,  commonly  known  as  the  Young  Pretender. 
The  obverse  has  the  faces  of  his  father,  Jsimes  III.,  known  as 
the  Old  Pretender,  and  Clementina,  his  wife.  Th«»  collection 
also  contains  a  brass  medal  of  Frederick  th^  Great  in  splendid 
preservation.  Among  the  coins  are  three  silver  denarii  of  the 
Koman  PImperor  Valerius,  and  two  of  Gratian,  found  at 
Totterdown,  Bristol,  in  exceedingly  good  condition ;  a  shilling 
of  Oliver  Cromwell,  found  in  a  gsu-den  at  St.  Athans,  and  a 
second  brass  of  Nero,  the  Koman  Emperor ;  a  groat  of  Philip  and 
Mary,  and  a  silver  }ienny  of  one  of  the  Henries,  the  last 
considerably  defaced.    There  are  also  eleven  silver  and  twenty- 


LITERAKY  AND  ART  NOTES.  477 

^even   copper  coins  of  diflFerent  reigns,  but  not  found  in  the 
district. 

Captain  Williams,  of  Cardiff,  has  presented  to  the  same 
museum  a  nmiiber  of  natural  history  specimens  found  by 
him  in  Fiji,  Asia  Minor,  Greece,  the  Crimea,  &c.,  and  has  lent 
for  exhibition  the  very  fine  amphora  found  by  him  in  the  ruins 
of  ancient  Troy  close  to  the  spot  where  Dr.  Schliemann  made 
his  celebrated  discoveries.  Also  a  fine  example  of  the  Greek 
Leckythos,  painted  with  a  scene  from  the  Bacchic  Mysteries ; 
two  vases  of  early  Greek  workmanship,  with  a  hunting  scene 
which  forcibly  recalls  the  story  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon ; 
two  ancient  lamps  and  several  antique  vases  from  Athens  of 
considerable  interest. 

Mr.  Octavius  Morgan,  The  Friars,  Newport,  Mon.,  has 
recently  contributed  to  Notes  and  Queries  an  interesting  series 
of  jmpers  on  "  Old  Clocks." 

The  Transactions  oi  the  Bristol  and  Gloucestershire  Archaeo- 
logical Society  for  1881-2,  just  published  in  volume  form, 
contain  an  article  by  Mr.  G.  T.  Clark,  F.S.A.,  of  Dowlais 
House,  on  Chepstow  Castle,  on  the  site  of  which  the  Silures  are 
believed  to  have  made  the  last  stand  against  the  liomans,  of 
whom  remains  may  be  found  in  a  camp  at  Sudbrook,  on  the  sea 
coast,  and  at  Caerwent  and  Caerleon,  a  few  miles  inland.  Canon 
Scarth  has  a  paper  on  the  Roman  remains  at  Lydney  Park  on 
the  road  between  Gloucester  and  Caerleon,  and  Tintem  Abbey 
is  illustrated  by  pen  and  pencil  in  the  same  volume  by  Mr. 
T.  Blashill. 

Cyinhia  is  the  title  of  a  new  comic  opera  produced  at  the 
Strand  Theatre.  The  principal  character  is  King  Arthur,  who, 
according  to  the  TimeSy  is  introduced  as  being  in  j^ecuniary 
diflBculties,  with  his  palace,  throne,  and  even  the  famous  Round 
Table  itself  in  the  possession  of  bailiffs.  A  droll  incident  in 
the  piece  is  the  upsetting  of  the  Round  Table,  with  its  load  of 
dishes,  upon  the  sacred  person  of  the  Monarch,  who  sings  a 
**  musically  mad  "  song,  and  is  otherwise  allowed  to  make  a  fool 
of  himself.  Ultimately,  by  marrying  his  sons  to  three  well-to- 
do  Welsh  princesses,  he  is  enabled  to  buy  out  the  men  in 
possession  and  so  mend  his  broken  fortune.  The  composer  is 
Mr.  Florian  Pascal^  and  the  librettist  Mr.  Harry  Paulton,  who 
himself  plays  the  principal  part.  This,  with  plenty  of  display 
of  leg  on  the  part  of  the  ballet  dancers^-each  of  whom  a 
decorous  Lord  Chancellor  positively  forbids  to  dispense  with  her 
loin-cloth — is  a  sort  of  nonsense  very  fashionable  just  now 
with  the  Mashers  and  other  representatives  of  English 
noodledom. 


-L»   laii  1  -s.  rr.ften    m'-finnc  !nr  "lae  aua^«r.  or.  i 


As  •T~n)-r::2ar7  riei  ■  •  £  -:ac-;  jtci*  rears  bocc  id 
r-a::r.  :r:rt  f  M.v~  "I'-r".  a^ar  fir^.  T»r  ^otlMsen.  na 
T»s'i:i"  mi:  Sti-'iar.'.  za— _zr  :iarr-il^i  .:v^r»  fxaw  of  I  iVA 
<Ir^«  j't-f  Til-:  ■L*':.  :  irr  -jir-w  *-<;  r^i  rail  x£  tia  adr^rs 
ittati.  </=a2'T-  aTiiT-i;  3L  Xil-Lin-.  »b?  threw  the  ball 
*«ii;r.  f-r-«^  -laii  riT-w.  a:—  i:  "b?  :  rihesti  .f  the  «tfa«r  as  U 
lira  '••,  '.'r.*  'per. 


A  ";-:■---•  ci-:i-  ^i  *!+  £'■.■*'.■;.  rr^iA.-i-  ;r  declares  that 
Jitr:."'.  ka--<7.1  Lrw-ll  moe  tc.i:-?  !::■  tis  ciind  to  f-IaT  a. 
njy.r.  '-■.•;  J;^«"''!':.  an-:  ■■,  :Lj:  -e  i  wr«e  an  artiole  called 
**K--'-n';*;  f.f  Arr.'^riosa  H :;:::■. ^:f."  ^iikh  was  sud  by  the  frU 
Uj  •h'.m  h*  r-a*i  it  to  h->  am-rc^  t:.e  best  of  his  writings.  * 
*n.f>lo_v«i  -Kitr.e  one  to  c('f-v  ir.-say*  the  oorrespondent,  " 
tieifrii  it  *  W,  P*?tTT  Fa:n%,'  ai,d  sent  it  to  the  J(?<in^ic  with 
Ti'itiffit  that,  a.'  it  wa5  a  maiden  ed'ort.  the  editor  would  giv< 
«i|.irii"n  in  writing  to  ^Jd  Paine.  He  waited  a  fortnight, 
h'r^nuff  nothing  from  his  paper,  when  being  in  Boston, 
•lr'i(ii-*;d  into  the  r.ffice  of  the  Atlantic,  and,  meeting  Jamei 
^'M^i^,  aflroitly  turned  the  conversation  upon  humour,  ( 
rftnarked  it  wan  eingular  >o  little  was  written  upon  the  subj' 
Fiftl'ln  replied, '  We  get  a  great  deal  of  manuscript  on  hum« 
hut  it,  in  nojfoor  that  we  cannot  use  it.  I  threw  into  thewai 
tm)ik(rt  the  other  day  a  long  screeii  christened  the  "  Essenci 
AinTiiran  Humour,"  which  shoutd  have  been  styled  the  "Esse 
(»f  Noil  HI- nut',"  for  a  more  absurd  farrago  of  stuff  I  have  ne 
tu'fti.'  I»well,  much  to  the  surprise  of  the  editor,  burst  inl 
roiir  of  liitight<rr,  and  informed  Mr.Fields  of  the  authorship  of 
fttticlf.  'Hin  editor  turned  all  colours,  and  swore  it  was  out 
JLafltaU'N jokes.     '  Indeed  it  is,'  responded  Lowell,  'and  the  I 


DKACONIGEN.E.  47^ 

joke  I  ever  played.  I  never  thought  highly  of  my  scribblingy 
but  I  didn't  believe  it  was  the  most  ridiculous  farrago  of  stuff 
you  had  ever  seen.'  By  way  of  self-defence,  Fields  declared  he 
did  not  read  the  thing,  but  that  he  did  not  believe  that  a  man 
who  signed  his  first  name  with  the  initial  and  the  second  full 
could  write  for  the  Atlantic.  That  was  about  as  ingenious 
an  excuse  as  he  could  make  for  his  partiality." 

*  * 
* 

The  Timesj  of  February  23rd,  1818,  publishes  the  following 
short  paragraph  : — 

*'  Oliver  the  Spy. — Our  readers  already  know  this  infamous 
character  is  a  native  of  Wales — we  believe  of  the  county  of 
Pembroke.  About  a  week  ago  lie  was  recognised  at  Cardigan, 
and  would  have  been  torn  in  pieces  by  the  honest  Cambrians 
had  he  not  escaped  in  a  post  chaise." 

It  is  said  that  this  Oliver  was  employed  during  the  discon- 
tent in  the  manufacturing  districts  in  1817,  as  a  secret  Govern- 
ment informer;  and  that  on  the  16th  of  June  that  year  the 
Kirl  of  Liverpool  stated  in  the  House  of  Lords  that  he  had 
rendered  essential  service  to  the  Administration.  His  true 
character  as  an  inciter  of  sedition  and  an  informer  against  the 
discontented  was  first  shown  up  in  the  Leeds  Mercury,  Ix)cal 
recollection  may  inform  our  readers  what  his  ruthlessly  shorn 
mission  was  to  the  loyal  and  sleepy  town  of  Cardigan. 

*  * 
* 

One  of  the  earliest  notices  of  Llandrindod  appears  in  a  letter 
written  by  the  famous  antiquary,  Lewis  Morris,  ancestor  of  our 
esteemed  poet,  dated  1752 : — 

"  Sunday  Morning. 

"The  post  goes  out  immediately  (an  old  woman),  and 
to-morrow  I  intend  to  set  out  for  our  Welsh  bath  at  Llan  y 
Drindod,  there  to  drink  a  gallon  of  water  and  a  gallon  of  some 
other  liquor ;  from  thence  to  Gallt  Vadog ;  from  thence  about 
the  latter  end  of  the  week  to  Aberdovey." 

•  • 
• 

Referring  to  our  "Welsh  Members  of  Former  Administrations," 
an  esteemed  correspondent  writes : — A  contributor  is  giving  your 
readers  some  interesting  sketches  of  bye-gone  Welsh  Members. 
Of  two  who  have  lived  outside  his  dates,  allow  me  to  say  a 
word.  Sir  George  Comewall  Lewis,  although  he  represented  a 
Welsh  constituency  in  Eadnor,  hated  Welshmen.  In  one  of 
his  letters  (published  soon  after  his  death),  he  says : — "  George 
Olive  ended  a  letter  to  me,  not  long  ago,  with  the  following 
pious  and  benevolent  ejaculation,  writing  from  the  depth  of 
Wales: — *That  the  devil  would  fly  away  with  this  miserable 
race  of  Celtic  savages  is  the  fervent  prayer  of,  yours  sincerel^^ 


MISS    W  I  LLIAM  S. 


MISS    W  I  LLIAM  S. 


f  . 


I        • 


•  I  :i" 


.". : , 


'  t .  I 


I        ) 


NOTABLE    WOMEN    OF    WALES 


MISS    WILLIAMS,   ABERPERGWM. 


Wales  has  not  been  prolific  in  literary  Welshwomen.  She 
has  had  her  heroines,  and  poor  Llewelyn  Prichard  gave  to  the 
world  a  long  and  interesting  list  who  had  distinguished  them- 
selves in  the  din  of  battle,  in  the  exigencies  of  siege,  and  in 
that  sphere  of  endurance  and  self-abnegation  wherein  woman 
in  every  age,  and  land,  has  played  an  unsung,  but  an  illustrious, 
part.  The  episodes  of  the  struggle  against  the  Saxon,  the 
unrest  of  the  Norman  era,  the  dying  efforts  under  Llewel3ni,  the 
last  Prince,  and  the  momentary  brilliance  followed  by  the 
cloudy  eve  of  the  Glyndwr  campaign,  though  each  and  all 
calculated  to  arouse  heroic  efifort,  and  in  the  end  patient 
resignation,  were  not  suited  to  bring  forth  woman  in  that  field 
of  poetic  labour  for  which  the  brightest  and  best  side  of  her 
character  is  so  admirably  suited.  In  the  early  days  of  British 
history  a  woman  who  was  not  a  Boadicea  was  ignored.  The 
chronicler,  especially  if  he  was  a  monk,  passed  by  every  kind  of 
feminine  perfection  unless  it  was  dignified  by  saintship.  But 
with  the  advent  of  the  Norman,  the  days  of  chivalry,  and  the 
Crusades,  the  poet  found  in  the  beauties  of  nature  and  the 
graces  of  woman  subjects  for  his  muse  more  pleasing  than 
the  glories  of  the  battlefield.  Gwalchmai,  Rhys  Goch,  and 
Davydd  ap  Gwilym  were  amongst  the  first  to  select  woman  as 
the  great  ideal,  and  to  exhaust  the  comparisons  of  nature  in 
•depicting  her  charms. 

One  of  the  few  women  who  ever  figured  in  Welsh  literature 
was  Gwervyl,  daughter  of  Hywel  Vychan.  She  was  known  as 
Gwervyl  Mechain,  and  in  her  day — 1460  to  1490 — bore  the 
repute  of  being  an  elegant  poetess.  Thus,  in  respect  both  of 
old  times  and  of  modem  days,  Miss  Williams,  of  Aber- 
pergwm,  stands  almost  alone;  but  even  if  she  had  been 
one  of  a  long  list,  or  in  her  day  surrounded  by  con- 
temporaries, she  would  have  been  worthy  of  a  niche  in  the 
history  of  British  literature.  She  was  the  sister  of  William 
Williams,  of  Aberpeigwm,  whose  illustrious  descent  and 
^holarly  acquirements  may  form  the  object  of  a  future  notice  in 

P  F 


482  NOTABLE  WOMEN  OF  WALES. 

this  section  of  the  Red  Dragon.  It  was  to  her  that  Croker 
was  indebted  for  a  series  of  most  interesting  fairy  stories  indi- 
genous to  the  Neath  Valley,  and  it  was  to  her  that  the  musical  world 
is  indebted  for  a  collection  of  Welsh  melodies,  the  lingering 
strains  of  Glamorgan  and  Gwent,  which  won  the  great  Llanover 
prize  at  an  Abergavenny  eisteddfod,  and  has  ever  since  been 
regarded  as  of  national  interest,  and  value.  She  has  sometimes 
been  confounded  with  an  able  contemporary  of  her's,  Jane 
Williams  (" Ysgafell"),  of  North  Wales;  but  the  two  ladies 
were  distinct  as  much  by  literary  characteristic  as  by  blood. 

In  the  collection  of  fairy  legends,  and  in  the  gleaning  of  old 
and  sweet  melodies,  the  lady  of  Aberpergwm  excels  ;  but  in 
the    editing   of    the    "  Literary    Remains "    of  Camhuanawc, 
*'  Ysgafell "  took  priority,  and  we  see   a   vigour  of  criticism 
and  masculine    scholarship     which     confirm    her    reputation 
as    one    of   the  most    able    literary    workers    in     the    field 
of     English     literature.       There     is     nothing     puerile     or 
sketchy  about   her  work.     She   grasps  the  abstruse  scholarly 
attainments  of  her  hero  with  the  same  facility  as  she  dwells  on 
the  quiet  life,  the  gleaning  of  flowers  and  herbs  by  the  wayside, 
which     characterised     him.      We     see    old    Camhuanawc   in 
varied  moods,  now  discoursing  eloquently  on  Eisteddfodau,  the 
lore  of  Wales  and  its  literature  ;  again  talking  over  old  legends 
with    the    octogenarians    of    his     neighbourhood,    or    subtly 
discoursing  on  some  moot  point  of  classic  lore.     Miss  Williams, 
of  Aberpergwm,  her  namesake,  had,  in  her  own  valley,  a  name 
which  was  a  household  word  in  every  farm  house  and  cottage 
home.  She  was  the  Lady  Bountiful,who8e  coming  into  a  homestead 
was  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  that  made   little   ones    dehghted, 
and  caused  the   eyes    of  the    old    to    sparkle    with    pleasure. 
We  have  known  "  blue  stockings,"  prim,  vinegary,  ostentatious 
in  church  work,  and  masculine  in  their  perambulatory  move- 
ments   over  the  mountains.     Blue  stockings  who  believed  in 
hob-nailed  boots,  and  showed  a  total  disregard  of  the  fashions ; 
who  displayed  none  of  the  gentleness  of  woman,  but  instead 
possessed  some  of  the  weak  indecision  of  man.     Contact  with 
such  always  made  one  regret  that  nature  had  not  confined  her 
eccentricities  to  the  inanimate  world.  But  Miss  Williams  was  none 
of  these.     Music  delighted  her — and  she  knew  its  technicalities 
as  thoroughly  as  she  felt  its  power.     Beautiful  scenery  charmed 
her — and  she  had  the  ability  to  limn  as  strongly  as  she  had  the 
faculty  to  appreciate.     Then  her  reading  was  most  extensive 
and  her  memory  retentive,  making  her  a  valued  companion  to 
the  old  parsons   who  dwelt  in  the  little  mountain  ravines  of 
Neath,  relics,  we  may  say,  of  the  old  Abbots  whom  the  bards 
glorified. 

It  has  been  a  treat  to  us  in  the  summer  time  to  spend  a  few 
hours  in  the  ancestral  home  of  the  Williamses  of  Aberpergwm, 


MISS  WILLIAMS.  483 

a  family  now  most  genially  and  worthily  represented,  and  out 
from  the  hall,  teeming  with  antique  reminders,  to  look  into  the 
wooded  landscape  this  gifted  lady  knew  and  loved  so  well — 
the  white-washed  cottages  on  the  hillside,  where  lived  the 
grandame  who  could  sing,  in  thin  treble,  a  song  handed  down 
in  nursery  rhyme  many  hundred  years  old ;  and  the  glen  that 
scarred  the  hillside  where  the  fairies  used  to  dance,  and  play 
their  impish  games,  as  veraciously  told  her  by  Old  Will,  or  Twm, 
or  an  almost  forgotten  Shenkin !  And  we  have  pictured  her 
trilling  the  lay  herself  so  as  to  be  able  to  note  it  down,  and 
making  the  old  ones  proud  as  she  jotted  their  reminiscences 
of  the  past.  One  of  those  old  legends — ^most  of  which  are  in 
Ttdea  and  Sketches  of  Wales — was  equal  to  anything  Washing- 
ton Irving  ever  penned.  A  burly  young  woodman  went 
forth  from  his  cottage  one  morning,  carrying  an  axe  and 
a  wallet  filled  with  bread  and  cheese,  for  he  only  returned  home 
at  night.  He  worked  away  in  the  glen,  cutting  down  trees, 
until  mid-day,  when  he  sat  on  a  felled  oak,  and  had  his  humble 
meal.  The  sun  was  so  warm,  and  he  so  tired,  and  the  soothing 
influence  of  fairy  wings  so  strong  that  he  dozed,  and  dozed,  and 
dozed  !  He  awoke  from  his  forty  winks,  and  started  to  his  feet. 
The  sun  was  going  down  over  the  hill.  It  was  time  to  shoulder 
his  axe.  Whew !  there  was  the  axe-head  by  him,  rusted,  and  the 
fragments  of  the  handle  rotten.  Nothing  more.  It  was  strange. 
Could  this  have  been  the  bright  implement  he  had  wielded  only 
an  hour  before?  He  started  away  along  a  well-known  path. 
As  he  neared  the  cottage  homes  strange  changes  met  him ; 
he  hardly  knew  where  he  was.  There  was  his  garden,  but 
larger  and  more  productive.  In  it  worked  an  old  man,  whose 
features  he  seemed  to  know.  Alas  !  the  dread  truth  was  soon 
revealed.  The  curly-headed  boy  he  had  left  at  home,  who  used 
to  run  down  the  garden  path  to  welcome  him  every  eve,  was 
the  old  man  now !  His  good  wife  had  been  buried  many  a  long 
year  ago.  The  woodman  had  slept  for  half  a  century  in  the 
glen. 

Glyn  Neath,  from  time  immemorial,  was  regarded  as  a  fairy 
district,  the  chosen  home  of  the  "  little  people."  Nowhere 
amongst  the  mountains  could  such  pleasant  spots  be  found,  or 
such  stories  be  heard.  Indeed,  it  is  suggested  by  antiquaries 
that  the  Sovereign  of  the  Goblins,  Gwyn  ap  Nudd,  whom  some 
of  the  old  bards  mention,  must  have  held  his  elfin  court  in  this 
neighbourhood,  ruling  gently,  and  yet  holding  his  subjects  in 
sufficient  control,  so  as  to  curtail  somewhat  their  practical 
mischief,  changing  children,  for  instance,  and  putting  an  elfin 
baby  in  the  room  of  a  veritable  Shenkin  bach,  or  beguiling 
some  infant  Twm  or  other  away  from  his  home,  but  allowing 
him  to  return  after  a  lapse  of  time  to  grow  up  a  moody 
man;  or  enticing  harpers,  who  had  got  into  theic  ^^m^^s^^  ^ 

F  F  2 


484  XOTAHLE  ^V()MEN  OF  WALES. 

into    some    cavernous   recess,  and    there    keeping    then 
ever !     Even  now,  when  the  scream  of  the   steam  engin 
frightened   off   gnome   and  elf,   on   gloomy    autumnal 
when  the    storm   howls   in   the    vale,    gossips    say  you 
hear,  by  listening    at    the   cave,    the    well-known    stmi 
some    lost    hari)er!     Then,   in    addition     to    goblin    lei 
the   home   of   our    authoress   was    surrounded    with    as 
tions  historic  and  legendary.     Herself  descendant  of  lest; 
<Twrgant,  near  her  the  famous  abbey,  of  which  Lewis  Mon 
has  given  such  a   glowing  description,   and   of  which  J 
writes : — The  fairest   abbey  in  all  Wales  ;  and   close  at 
towers  the  Dinas  Kock,  under  which,  if  legends  be  tru< 
sleep  Arthur  and  his  Knights  I     Here,  in   brief,   is  one  c 
traditions  for  you.     A  Welshman,  walking  over  London  B 
was  accosted  by  a  stranger,  who  asked  him  where   he  ha 
the  stick  which  he  carried.     Tlie  Welshman,  having  give 
desired  information,  accompanied  the  interlocutor  back  inl 
Vale  of  Neath,  and  underneath  the  rock  whereon  the  stic 
gi'o^^ni,  a  tmp  door  was  foimd.     On  lifting  this  they  saw  a 
of  stairs  that  led  into  a  cavern,  wherein,  amidst  gold  and  j 
in  boundless  j^rofusion,  slept  Arthur  and  his  Knights, 
faied  the  Welshman  must  be  told  again  when  the  tale  is 
in  extenso  in  our  pages.     Many  an  hour  might   be   devot 
penning  recollections  of  this  gifted  lady;  but  the  limits  ( 
space  forbid.     TJ^is  we  may  add,  that  the  present  »Squi 
Aberi)ergwm  has  a  large  number  of  unpublished  MS.  song; 
poems,  collected  by  his  gifted  relative,  which  will,  some 
day,  we  hope,  be  allowed  to  see  the  light. 

The  family  of  Aberpergwm  have  lived  there  for  eight  hui 
years;  tlieir  history  is  part  of  the  history  of  Wales, 
incidents  of  their  career  were  the  subject  of  Lewis  Glyn  0 
muse  ;  but  the  memory  of  hero  or  heroine,  of  gallant  knig 
ladye  fair,  will  fade  long  Ixjfore  that  of  the  gleaner  of  an 
nmsic  and  fairy  legend. 

The  Edit 


OF    HIGH     DEGREE. 


By  Charles  Gibbon,  Author  of  "  Robin  Gray,"  "  A  Heart's 
Problem,"  "In  Honour  Bound,"  "Queen  of  the  Meadow," 

"The  Braes  of  Yarrow,"  &c.,  &c. 


CHAPTER  LVIIL— The  Crisis. 

Ruth's  first  feeling  was  one  of  surprise,  mingled  with  dismay. 
But  that  quickly  changed  to  joy,  for  she  interpreted  Dahlia'* 
early  departure  to  repentance  as  hasty  as  her  act  of  folly  ;  and 
now  her  desire  was  to  get  home  as  speedily  as  possible. 

How  she  pitied  the  poor  rash  young  wife ;  and  how  glad 
she  would  be  to  do  anything  to  help  her  back  to  contentment 
and  happiness. 

With  this  joyful  tidings  to  convey,  the  question  was — Would 
she  be  able  to  get  it  conveyed  in  time  to  stop  Mr.  Dottridge 
and  Stephen  from  coming  to  Harwich,  and  to  turn  them  back 
to  Derewood  ?     She  would  try. 

"  Can  you  direct  me  to  the  telegraph  office  ?" 

*'It  is  in  Church-street,  madam,  but  you  can  write  your 
telegram  here,  and  we  will  send  it  for  you,"  was  the  manager's 
reply. 

Ruth  entered,  hastily  wrote  her  message,  and,  even  whilst 
she  was  writing,  the  question  forced  itself  u]:)on  her, 

"  What  have  I  but  conjecture  for  saying  that  Dahlia  has  gone 
home  ?" 

The  pen  stopi)ed,  and  was  poised  doubtingly  over  the  paper 

she  altered  her  plan,  and  sent  this  to  Mrs. 
Meredith,  senior : 

"  Has  she  returned  ?  If  she  is  not  with  you  already  I 
believe  she  is  on  her  way.  But  answer  immediately.  I  am 
waiting." 

It  so  happened  that  when  Bassnett  received  the  telegram  for 
Mr.  Dottridge  he  believed  him  to  be  with  Stephen,  well  on  his 
way  to  Harwich.     He  could  have  no  suspicion  that  they  were 


486  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

impatiently  kicking  their  heels  at  the  station  waiting  for  the 
next  train. 

As  Ruth  looked  from  the  window  she  saw  without  surprise, 
but  with  much  chagrin,  Rapier  walking  towards  the  hotel. 

The  answer  had  not  come  yet,  and  she  could  only  wait  and 
watch. 

Rapier  was  so  confident  that  he  should  find  Dahlia  here  that 
he  said  at  once  to  the  waiter : 

"  Will  you  take  my  card  to  ilrs.  Whitcombe,  please  ?" 

He  was  considerably  taken  aback  when  he  was  told  that  the 
lady  had  gone. 

"  You  are  sure  she  has  gone  ?"  he  said,  looking  suspiciously 
at  the  waiter.  "  Are  you  sure  that  you  know  the  lady  I 
mean  ?*' 

"  Yes,  sir, — came  by  the  last  train  last  night,  and  went  away 
by  the  first  train  this  morning.  There  is  a  lady  here  who  has 
been  asking  after  her." 

"  A  lady  here  who  has  been  asking  after  her  ?'* 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  Do  you  know  her  name  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  she  has  given  a  name,  but  I'll  inquire." 

He  went  to  the  office  and  returned  with  the  answer  that  no 
name  had  been  given. 

Rapier  stood  (juite  still  looking  at  his  boots.  He  wanted  to 
know  who  this  could  be,  sufficiently  acquainted  with  Dahlia's 
movements  to  forestall  him  in  making  inquiries  for  her  at 
Harwich.     He  took  a  simple  means  of  finding  out. 

"  As  we  have  the  same  object  in  view  the  lady  must  be  a 
friend.  Take  my  card  to  her,  and  say  that  I  would  be  greatly 
obliged  if  she  would  see  me  for  a  few  minutes." 

The  waiter  placed  the  card  on  a  salver  and  went  upstairs. 

"Did  the  gentleman  ask  for  me  by  my  name  ?"  inquired 
Ruth. 

"No,  madam,  he  said  that  as  you  were  seeking  Mrs. 
Whitcombe  as  well  as  himself,  you  must  be  a  friend,  and  he 
would  like  to  see  you." 

Ruth  dropped  the  card  on  the  salver  again. 

"Return  his  card  and  say  that  I  don't  understand  how  he 
should  desire  to  see  a  lady  whose  name  he  does  not  know.** 

The  waiter  bowed  and  returned  to  Rapier  with  the  message 
and  the  card — the  contempt  implied  by  the  latter  fact  was 
perfectly  understood.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been  some  unfortunate 
tradesman  who  had  been  pushing  his  business  too  zealously. 
But  without  appearing  to  observe  the  card  he  walked  into  the 
dining-room. 

A  glass  of  sherry  and  a  biscuit  were  brought  to  him,  and  as  he 
sipped  the  one  and  in\nic\ied  tV^  o'Ocxet  V^  ^cs^A^  '^  ^  window 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  487 

staring  at  the   roughly-constructed  pier,  which  was  intended 
more  for  business  than  for  gay  promenaders. 

"  There  is  only  one  woman  who  could  do  this,"  he  was  saying 
mentally,  "and  that  is  Ruth.  ...  I  need  not  bother  myself 
trying  to  make  out  how  she  discovered  that  Dahlia  had  come 
here,  or  how  she  got  here  before  me.  Enough  that  I  know  her 
purpose — she  wants  to  be  the  first  to  see  Dahlia  and  take  her 
home  without  conditions." 

He  emptied  his  glass  and  set  it  down  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  has  come  to  a  final  resolution. 

"  It  is  a  race  between  us,  then,  and  I  mean  to  be  the  winner.    . 

.     .     If  Dahlia  has  gone    from    Harwich   she    has    gone  to 

Ix)ndon  and  is  waiting  for  me.     I  can  easily  find  out  whether 

she  has  left  or  not,  for  there  are   few   passengers    who   take 

out  tickets  from  here  by  the  first  train  in  the  morning." 

He  called  the  waiter  to  whom  he  had  first  spoken,  and 
placed  something  in  his  hand,  for  which  the  man  gave  a  very 
ready  "  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  The  name  of  the  lady  upstairs  is  Miss  Clark.  There  is  a 
slight  misunderstanding  between  us,  and  that  was  why  she 
declined  to  see  me  a  little  while  ago.  But  it  is  important 
that  she  should  have  the  imformation  which  I  hope  to  bring 
back  with  me  about  our  friend." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man,  wondering  why  all  this  was 
confided  to  him. 

"Well,  if  she  should  go  out  before  my  return,  I  should 
like  to  know  where  she  goes  to.  Do  you  think  you  could 
manage  it  for  me  ?" 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can,  sir,  unless  she  happens  to  mention 
it" 

"  You  might  find  someone — no,  I  will  find  someone  myself. 
Look  here — you  see  the  pier  ticket  office.  A  man  will  be 
standing  there ;  should  Miss  Clark  go  out  you  have  only  to  nod 
to  him,  and  he  will  know  what  to  do." 

The  waiter  evidently  did  not  relish  the  business,  but  he 
agreed  to  do  what  was  required. 

Rapier  went  out  and  easily  found  one  of  the  loafers  about  the 
quay  to  undertake  the  task  of  "  keeping  an  eye  "  on  Ruth* 
That  arrangement  having  been  completed  he  proceeded  to  the 
station,  where  he  learned  that  the  early  train  was  intended  for 
Continental  travellers  only ;  but  that  anyone  having  a  return 
ticket  to  Ijondon  might  go  by  it  if  there  happened  to  be  room. 
The  first  Harwich  train  up  was  at  five  minutes  past  eight. 

Rapier  was  sure  that  Dahlia  would  not  have  a  return  ticket, 
and  so,  if  she  had  gone  by  train  at  all,  she  must  have  been 
waiting  for  several  hours  at  the  station.  But  no  lady  had  been 
waiting.  Then  he  was  convinced  that  she  had  not  left* 
Harwich. 


488  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

He  sauntered  out  into  the  street  and  round  by  the  old  light- 
house. He  saw  a  group  of  men  coming  along  the  shore  from 
the  direction  of  the  fort,  and  they  were  evidently  carrying 
something.  One  man  was  running  on  a-head  of  the  others,  and 
Bapier  called  to  him  : 

"  What's  the  matter,  my  man  ?" 

**  A  ladv  been  found  in  a  fit  on  the  beach,''  answered  the 
man,  breathlessly.  "  We  were  just  in  time  to  save  her,  for  the 
tide  was  coming  in,  and  was  nigh  at  her  feet  when  we  came 
u{x>n  her.     I  am  going  for  the  doctor." 

Rapier  scarcely  heard  the  last  words.  He  hastened  to  meet 
the  advancing  group,  and  when  he  saw  the  api>arently  lifeless 
body  they  were  carrying  on  a  door  he  asked  involuntarily : 

«  Is  she  dead  ?" 

"  We  don't  know,  sir,"  said  a  soldier,  who  was  one  of  the 
bearers,  "  but  she  looks  like  it,  i)Oor  soul.  Is  she  a  friend  of 
your's  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  step  quickly  to  the  doctor's — ^you  shall  be  well 
rewarded/' 

•  •  .  •  .  • 

Quite  alone.  In  that  bustling  crowd  of  people,  eager  to  reach 
their  homes  or  places  of  sojourn,  there  was  no  face  to  give  her  a 
kindly  smile.  Some  young  men  stared  curiously  or  rudely  at 
her  as  they  passed  rapidly,  but  she  was  unconscious  of  it. 
Presently  all  these  people  would  be  in  the  train,  and  the  train 
would  go  away,  and  she  would  be  left  the  solitary  occupant  of 
the  platform. 

They  were  going  home  :  that  was  the  thought  uppermost  in 
her  mind.  And  she  I — she  had  no  home  to  go  to.  She  looked 
on  them  with  longing  eyes,  thinking  of  the  welcomes  that 
awaited  them,  but  without  envy,  only  with  a  deeper,  sadder 
sense  of  her  own  loss. 

The  guard's  voice  reached  her  as  from  a  long  distance  as  he 
asked  impatiently  for  the  third  time  : 

"  Are  you  going  on,  please  ?" 

And  she  answered  vacantly,  **No." 

It  was  curious  that  what  had  seemed  to  Ruth  the  most 
natural  course  for  Dahlia  to  pursue  had  never  occurred  to  her. 
She  did  not  think  of  going  home. 

The  guard  whistled,  the  engine  shrieked,  the  train  moved 
slowly  out  from  the  shed,  and  Dahlia  watched  it  dreamily  as  its 
pace  quickened  and  it  disappeared  from  her  sight.  She*  felt  as 
if  that  train  had  drawn  something  out  of  her  breast,  and  left  a 
hole  in  it.    She  could  not  go  home. 

There  were  a  number  of  officials  and  porters  moving  leisorely 
about  now,  and  one  of  them  came  up  to  her. 

'^  Have  you  miflsed  the  train,  ma'am  ?" 

"  No.'* 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  481> 

*'  Going  to  the  hotel,  perhaps  ?" 

"  No." 

Then  she  observed  the  astonishment  on  the  man's  face,  and 
became  aware  that  she  was  exciting  curiosity  amongst  those 
about.     She  drew  down  her  veil,  and  walked  quietly  away. 

She  came  near  to  the  point  where  the  path  divides  into  twOy 
one  ascending  the  hill  on  which  the  fort  stands,  the  other 
continuing  its  level  course  along  the  shore.  She  stepped  down 
on  to  the  gravelly  beach,  and  seated  herself  on  a  large  stone. 

The  involuntary  action  was  dictated  by  the  fatigue  of  mind 
and  body  which  was  beginning  to  assert  itself.  Had  she  been 
asked  she  would  have  said  that  she  did  not  feel  tired,  and  did 
not  feel  sleepy. 

Soldiers  passed  and  repassed,  and  stared  with  amused 
curiosity  at  the  lady  sitting  on  the  stone  gazing  out  toward* 
the  sea. 

She  neither  saw  them  nor  heard  the  remarks  they  made. 
She  was  not  looking  at  the  water,  as  they  thought,  but  inta 
Derewood  Grange,  and  seeing  the  misery  she  had  caused  to  all 
who  dwelt  there. 

She  saw  Stephen  angry,  and  heard  him — heard  him  a» 
plainly  as  ever  his  voice  had  sounded  in  her  ears  when  she  had 
been  by  his  side — she  heard  him  curse  her. 

At  that  there  was  a  wild  scream  in  her  brain — no  sound 
escaped  her  lips  —and  with  it  the  muscles  relaxed,  the  body 
became  limp,  and  she  fell  from  the  stone  on  to  the  gravel 
insensible. 

The  cruel  waters  were  coming  rapidly  up  to  her.  At  high 
tide  they  often  rose  above  the  protecting  wall,  and  overflowed 
the  path. 

But  a  smart  young  soldier  came  down  the  path  from  the  forty 
swinging  his  cane,  and  thinking  of  sweethearts  and  glory. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  the  woman  lying  on  the  gravel,  the  water 
touching  her  feet,  he  jumped  down  to  see  what  was  the  matter  , 
He  took  a  very  common-place  view  of  the  case  at  first — 
**  Drink,"  thought  he,  and  gave  the  alarm  to  some  labourers  in 
a  field  close  by.  They  came  readily  enough,  and  as  all  their 
skill  failed  to  arouse  her,  a  door  was  procured  from  the  car- 
penters of  a  villa  which  was  in  course  of  erection,  and  they  were 
bearing  her  to  a  doctor  when  Bapier  met  them. 

CHAPTER  LIX.— The  Trump  Card. 

Dr.  Harvey  was  at  home,  and  about  to  begin  his  early  dinner. 
He  was  at  the  door  when  Rapier  came  up  with  the  men  wha 
were  carrying  Dahlia. 

"  Bring  her  in  here,"  said  he,  without  waiting  for  a  word  of 
explanation  as  to  the  position  of  the  patient,  or  the  prospect  of 
obtaining  his  fee. 


/ 


•'.     ■       V 


T  _  -  1      -  _  - 


z.'.- 1.  : -r- 1   "«■  1 


wt  .-.      %•. 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  ^  491 

Mrs.  Meredith,  but  my  profession  gives  me  the  privilege  of 
speaking  to  you  as  a  friend.  It  is  a  habit  of  mine  to  speak  very 
frankly  to  my  patients,  and  I  am  going  to  t^U  you  something 
which  will  startle  you ;  but  I  do  so  in  the  hope  that  the  start 
will  help  to  cure  you.  And  this  is  it :  you  are  on  the  verge  of 
a  dangerous  illness,  but  it  is  a  mental  illness,  and  I  can  do  little 
for  you.  I  can  only  advise  you  to  help  yourself.  Find  relief 
for  whatever  it  is  that  is  distressing  your  mind,  and  you  will  be 
well  again." 

Dahlia  made  no  answer ;  she  only  removed  her  eyes  from 
Rapier  to  fix  them  wonderingly  on  this  good  physician. 

Rapier  laid  his  hand  on  the  doctor's  shoulder. 

"  I  know  the  cure,  then.  If  you  will  leave  us  together  for 
a  few  minutes  I  think  you  will  find  on  your  return  that  she  is 
better." 

The  doctor  looked  at  his  watch,  and  his  expression  was  as 
grave  as  it  ever  could  be.  His  was  one  of  those  faces  which  are 
incapable  of  expressing  solemnity,  however  deep  the  feeling  of 
it  may  be. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  go  out  just  now — indeed,  I  ought  to  have 
been  oflf  an  hour  ago,  for  I  have  a  somewhat  anxious  case  on 
hand.  I  shall  be  back  in  an  hour  or  so,  and  in  the  meanwhile 
I  shall  give  instructions  to  my  housekeeper  to  wait  upon  Mrs. 
Meredith.    You  need  have  no  hesitation  in  ringing  the  bell." 

As  the  doctor  went  out  he  beckoned  to  Rapier,  who  followed 
him  into  the  hall. 

"  Take  care  not  to  disturb  her,  and  leave  her  as  quickly  as 
you  can  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Grice,  my  housekeeper." 

"  It  is  her  husband  she  is  longing  for,"  said  Rapier,  calmly  ; 
^  and  I  am  going  to  arrange  for  their  meeting.  A  few  minutes 
will  do  it." 

**  Ah  !  that's  all  right,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  much  relieved. 
*'  I  can  trust  her  to  you  and  Mrs.  Grice." 

When  the  doctor  went  out  there  was  still  a  crowd  about  his 
door,  but  on  his  assurance  that  the  lady  was  recovering  the 
people  withdrew,  although  a  few  lingered  on  the  other  side  of 
the  way — amongst  them  those  whom  Rapier  had  promptly 
rewarded  for  their  assistance. 

When  Rapier  re-entered  the  room  he  carried  with  him  a  sheet 
of  notepaper  and  pen  and  ink  which  he  had  obtained  from  the 
housekeeper. 

Dahlia  was  staring  with  dull  curiosity  at  the  strange  place. 
She  knew  that  it  was  a  doctor's  house,  but  she  was  stiU  unable 
to  understand  how  she  came  there.  The  loud  roar  of  the  waters 
and  the  wild  sough  of  the  wind  were  still  in  her  ears.  That 
was  all. 

Rapier  placed  a  little  table  beside  her  very  quietly.  Then 
standing  calmly  before  her  he  spoke. 


492  OF  HIGH  DBGIUEE. 

'•  Do  yon  t  Liiik  rem  are  strong  ezM^ogii  to  Kgrf»p  x^  ju*.  r  Ej^ 
vyiv*-  vji»'  j'.»w  and  even  ^entle- 

Aft**r  a  long  tioH*,  ik  if  the  morda'  liad  had  tc»  trere:  ifcT" 
'-^♦T  TJ^..  reacL  Ler  imdere^tanding,  tLe  anrwer  c&zne  - — 

'^l  ^*T  you  ha^e  been  f-nfferiiig  more  tlom  I  €»reT  ibon^iT  t:c 
v're  Jikeh-  to  do.  You  need  not  znfier  anj  long«*r  if  tJ.h  ':iT* 
olIv  rtffrLt't.'j  TO  writ-e  three  line?.* 

-fV'r  what  j'urpos*e?  *he  said  irith  las^oid  indifierenoe. 

'^T''  rest/»re  vr»Ti  \o  voar  home  in  jierfect  conSdent^  tiibt  ttc 
are-  saf*-.  aud  that  Kuth  will  be  my  irife." 

She  Ktart^  a  little  at  Knth"?  name  :  but  she  was  XkK-  frrb> 
to  ^umaiij  aLv  pa**ion. 

*' What  d'»e*  it  iiiatT*-r  t^  me  whose  wife  she  i*?""  w&f  her 
I'i^Vr  fry.  ''.Stephen  never  cared  for  me — he  cannot  even 
re»]»ect  me  now." 

'•Jiut  you  can  teth  make  him  care  for  yon  and  re?i*<^  vol 
wli'-n  fhe  i-  out  of  the  way.  Event hing  is  in  your  t»wn  I'-'^-^r. 
Make  an  enon  V)  write  three  lines  and  I  will  brin^y  Stej-hen 
to  vou." 

"'  Yoxi  wiJl  bring  him  to  me — when  ?" 

With  that  exclamation  the  blood  flu>hed  to  her  cheek-,  her 
evf-^  heciirue  bright,  and  r^he  raised  herself  on  her  elbow. 

"  Withiij  a  f».-w  hour — I  pledge  myself  to  do  it.^ 

*•  What  i.-  it  ynu  want  me  to  write  r"  she  asked  with  nervous 
erigcrrj«-ss,  seiziug  the  jn-n  with  trembling  hxind. 

"  i  >nlv  thi- :" 

"  /  'vdl  conie  home  as  soon  as  I  learn  that  Iluth  has  accepte*i 
luijner. 

She  wrote  the  word>  and  signed  her  name.  Rapier  calmly 
folded  the  pai>er  and  placed  it  in  an  envelope. 

"  Are  you  sure  he  will  come  ?"  she  moaned,  falling  hack 
iigain  up<jn  the  couch. 

"'He  will  come,  you  mav  be  satisfie<l  of  that." 

Having  rung  the  bell  for  the  housekeeper,  Kapier  left  Dahlia 
in  her  charge,  promising  to  be  back  with  good  news  in  less  than 
an  hour. 

He  went  straight  to  the  harbour  and  found  the  man  at  the 
pier  ticket  office,  smoking  and  leaning  against  one  of  the  posts 
just  as  he  had  left  him.  That  was  good :  Ruth  was  still  in  the 
hotel.  The  man  assured  him  of  that,  and  immediately  walked 
away. 

Kapier  crossed  to  the  hotel,  and  learned  that  Miss  Clark  had 
gone  out  immediately  on  hearing  the  rumour  that  a  strange 
lady  had  been  foimd  insensible  on  the  beach.  The  signal  had 
l>een  fljflB^to  his  spy,  but  that  worthy  had  either  not  obsen'ed 
it  QF^^Bteived  him. 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  498 

CHAPTEK  LX.— «A  Hit,  a  VERy  Palpable  Hrr." 

• 

If  he  could  only  see  Ruth  before  she  had  an  opportunity  of 
conversing  with  Dahlia,  all  would  be  well.  She  must  be  very 
anxious  to  restore  harmony  to  the  house  of  Derewood,  or  she 
would  never  have  travelled  all  this  way  in  search  of  its  lost 
mistress.  That  anxiety  was  the  lever  by  which  he  should  be 
able  to  move  her  to  his  purpose. 

Everything,  however,  depended  upon  his  being  able  to  play 
his  trump  card — Dahlia's  letter — and  obtain  her  consent  before 
the  women  could  exchange  confidences.  Here  he  had  been 
most  unexpectedly  foiled  by  the  stupidity  or  treachery  of  his 
scout.     But  the  game  was  not  lost  yet. 

He  returned  to  the  doctor's  house,  and  when  the  house- 
keeper opened  the  door,  his  first  observation  was : 

"  I  hope  she  has  not  been  disturbed  during  my  absence  ?" 

"No,  sir;  I  don't  think  she  has  been  disturbed,"  said  the 
woman,  sharply,  as  if  all  this  extra  duty  was  trying  her  temper, 
"  She  has  been  a  little  uneasy,  and  I've  covered  her  up  to  keep 
her  warm." 

"  Has  the  doctor  returned  ?" 

"  Not  yet — there's  no  saying  when  he  may  come  back  once 
he  goes  out.  He  ain't  like  other  men  as  can  say  when  they'll 
come  and  when  they'll  go." 

Kapier  did  not  like  the  woman's  manner ;  but  this  was  not 
the  time  to  quarrel  with  anybody. 

"  If  anyone  should  come  asking  for  Mrs.  Meredith  or  Mrs. 
Whitcombe,  you  will  please  to  call  me,"  he  said,  quietly,  as  he 
passed  into  the  room  very  softly. 

The  blinds  were  down,  and  he  seemed  to  have  passed 
suddenly  out  of  daylight  into  dusk.  All  the  objects  around  him 
were  indistinct ;  but  presently  he  made  out  the  form  on  the 
couch  covered  with  blankets  and  rugs.  He  fancied  he  detected 
a  movement,  and,  therefore,  spoke. 

"  Are  you  sleeping.  Dahlia  ?" 

There  was  a  pause;  but  the  figure  moved  again,  and  at 
length  there  was  a  response  in  a  feeble  voice. 

"  No    ....     Is  he  coming  ?" 
'    "Yes,  yes,  by-and-bye.    Do  not  doubt  it.     I  expect  him 
every  moment.     "  But  meanwhile  I  want  to  tell  you  what  may 
be  unpleasant  news — fiuth  is  in  Harwich,  and,  no  doubt,  wants 
to  see  you." 

"  Well  ?"  was  the  muffled  query  from  under  the  blankets. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  you  to  see  her  until  we  have  got  her 
promise  to  make  you  happy  by  accepting  me." 

A  pause,  during  which  the  invalid  appeared  to  be  breathing 
heavily  and  gathering  strength  for  the  next  question. 

"  I  have  told  you,"  she  said  faintly,  "  that  I  do  not  care  now 


494  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

whether  she  marries  or  not.  I  want  only  to  be  forgiven  by 
Stephen."     . 

**  And  you  will  be,  of  course.  But  you  seem  to  be  forgetting. 
Dahlia,  the  bargain  you  made  with  me." 

"The  bargain — ah,  yes — what  was  it  ?" 

^  Oh,  you  must  remember  that  you  pledged  yourself  to  help 
me  with  all  your  power  to  win  Buth ;  and  to  that  end  you  were 
to  act  under  my  direction.  So  far  you  have  kept  your  promise. 
Do  not  fail  me  now  when  success  is  within  my  grasp.  If  you 
will  only  be  true  to  me  in  this,  Kuth  will  consent  as  soon  as  she 
sees  your  letter." 

"I  scarcely  remember  what  I  wrote  in  the  letter — ^you 
dictated  it." 

Rapier  thought  her  mind  must  be  wandering  very  much,  but 
he  answered  patiently  enough  : 

"  There  was  nothing  more  in  it  than  the  statement  that  you 
would  go  home  as  soon  as  you  knew  that  Ruth  had  accepted 
me. 

Another  pause  and  the  invalid  seemed  to  breathe  with  more 
diflSculty  than  before.     Then,  as  with  a  painful  efifort: 

"  Why  is  it  you  are  so  eager  to  win  Ruth  when  she  does  not 
care  for  you  ?" 

He  laughed  lightly  and  passed  his  hand  through  his  hair. 

**  How  is  it  you  have  become  so  curious,  Dahlia  ?     I  thought 

you  had  only  one  object  to  ser\'e — to  get  Ruth  out  of  your  way 

—and  that  I  was  helping  you  to  accomplish  it.     However,  the 

answer  to  your  question  is  that  I  like  her  and  hope  that  by-and- 

bye  she  will  leam  to  like  me." 

« Is  that  all  ?" 

"  What  else  should  there  be  ?" 

"  There  must  be  something  else." 

"Well,  perhaps  there  is,"  he  said  slowlv.  "Can  I  trust 
you  ?" 

"  I  hope  so.  .  .  .  Unless  you  trust  me  you  may  find  me 
fail  in  fulfilling  the  terms  of  our  bargain." 

'*  There  can  be  no  harm  in  telling  you  that,  besides  liking 
her,  I  know  she  has  a  considerable  fortune  which  would  make 
me  very  comfortable  for  life." 

The  figure  on  the  couch  made  an  apparently  convulsive 
movement,  and  when  she  spoke  again  the  voice  was  very  husky. 

"  Ruth !  a  fortune  !  .  .  .  you  are  mad.  You  know  that 
she  was  left  destitute  and  owes  everything  to  Mr.  Dottridge* 
Be  wise  in  time  and  turn  your  thoughts  elsewhere.  Ruth  has 
nothing." 

"  I  see  you  are  recovering  and  I  am  glad  of  that,  for  you  will 
be  all  the  better  able  to  help  me,"  he  said  coolly. 

"  Your  advice  is  excellent,  and  I  should  certainly  adopt  it  if  I 
did  not  possess  special  information.    She  certainly  does  owe 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  495 

everything  to  Dottridge,  and  that  everything  inchides  the 
fortune  of  which  I  speak.  She  knows  nothing  about  it.  Only 
Dottridge  who  gives  it,  Bassnett  who  drew  up  the  deed,  and  I 
who  have  read  the  deed,  know  that  she  is  an  heiress.  Now  you 
know  the  whole  state  of  affairs  ;  I  helped  you  to  get  Meredith  ; 
I  am  helping  you  back  to  him ;  and  I  expect  you  to  keep  faith 
with  me.     Remember  you  are  helping  yourself  in  helping  me." 

For  a  moment  there  was  perfect  stillness  in  the  room.  The 
invalid  did  not  move,  and  seemed  almost  as  if  she  had  ceased 
to  breathe ;  but  presently  she  spoke  again,  and  the  wcrds  were 
uttered  with  singular  distinctness. 

"  You  expect  me  to  help  you  to  force  Ruth  to  marry  you 
against  her  own  wish  and  will  ?  *' 

"  I  certainly  expect  you  to  keep  your  promise.  You  need 
have  no  qualms  of  conscience  about  it,  because  she  will  soon 
be  contented  with  her  lot.  And  if  she  is  not — why,  then  we 
can  separate.  There  will  be  enough  for  both  of  us  when  the 
fortune  is  divided." 

"  I  know  you  now." 

There  was  something  startling  in  the  words  and  in  the  firm 
tone  of  their  pronunciation.  There  was  something  still  more 
startling  in  the  slow  movement  of  the  invalid's  arm  thrusting 
back  the  coverings,  and  in  the  slow  rising  of  a  tall  dark  figure 
from  the  couch. 

Rapier  sprang  from  his  chair,  and  there  was  amazement,  fear,, 
and  rage  in  his  voice  as  he  exclaimed, 

«  Ruth  ! " 

He  could  say  no  more.  He  stood  dumbly  staring  at  her 
with  the  bitter  sense  that  he  had  been  foiled  by  his  own 
weapons ;  that  he  had  been  actually  trepanned  into  a  confession 
of  his  own  scheme  to  the  very  person  for  whose  enmeshment 
they  were  designed.  His  trump  card  was  not  only  valueless 
now,  it  was  the  proof  of  his  treacherous  machinations. 

Ruth  stood  so  still,  so  stem  that  she  seemed  to  tower 
above  the  discomfited  gambler.  But  in  the  interval  of  awed 
silence,  his  quick  wits  were  at  work.  He  was  even  at  this 
moment  seeking  some  explanation  by  which  to  turn  the 
exposure  to  advantage,  or  at  any  rate  to  find  the  means  of 
hiding  it  from  Dottridge. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Rapier,"  said  Ruth  coldly,  "  that  the  conversa- 
tion which  we  have  just  had  will  satisfy  you  that  you  would 
only  be  wasting  your  valuable  time  in  any  further  efforts  to 
compel  me  to  marry  you.  I  now  understand  why  you  made 
the  suggestion  to  Mj.  Dottridge  which  has  caused  so  much 
imhappiness,  and  I  now  understand  why  the  telegram  from 
Sydney  was  not  delivered  until  too  late  to  be  of  any  use." 

JAuch  to  her  surprise  the  brief  consternation  of  Rapier 
entirely  disappeared.    He  laughed  heartily. 


•    _ 


\.  -  - 


■."k 


K 


...  r       * 

.'.  ..  >/''■:  ::.     .-.v..  :r  ■--*:. — --.:.  u'-.l  ^n::hrr  tvent  ab 

»•..;.  •  :  .',  >.  r.  -  -iri.-:  i:  r:r-r-*.  I  car.  easilv  ^iiess  1 
K"  ';;;.':  ••/  A'r.    ■     :  i* — L-  1,^.  i  -l.r  krv  •;:  my  private  i^afe 

'A  j».  .M',r"  -.'..jrj  tr..---  y-^r?  :i,j'.«  I  xnade  a  note  m  |ieni 
M.;i»  f»o*<-  a"  iir;it.-ly  ..r;irrri  r:.y  iiitenrion.s  as  they  are  expre* 
Ml  tuf  'aijI.  'Ih*r  y.x\iHT  di.rapi^enreii ;  I  l>elieved  that  I  ! 
«|i:»r/iy<d  it  jirjd  for^^otten  the  circum.stance.  He  must  h 
t»l'»ii  if  froffi  llj<:fahl#:.  That  is  why  he  has  so  persistei 
wi\\\t\i\  you." 

I(ii|»iii    hfirl    l»y  this  time  recovered    somewhat    from 


OF  IIIGH  DEGREE.  497 

second  surprise,  and  made  another  bold  effort  to  maintain  his 
position. 

"  It  is  not  fair,  Dottridge,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  felt  himself  aggrieved  bj  the  falsehood  of  a  friend. 
"  Vou  pledged  yourself  that  you  would  not  stand  in  my  way  or 
grudge  me  my  success." 

''  I  pledged  myself,  sir,"  retorted  Dottridge,  frowning,  "  to 
accept  whatever  decision  Miss  Clark  might  come  to  regarding 
her  future,  provided  the  decision  was  made  of  her  own  free 
will,  and  not  under  compulsion.  I  had  no  suspicion  then  of 
the  abominable  devices  you  had  practised  to  destroy  the  happi- 
ness of  my  adopted  daughter  and  of  this  lady." 

"  What  devices  ?"  queried  Rapier  defiantly. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Dottridge,  with  a  scornful  movement  of 
his  hand.  "  The  joke  is  on  our  side  now,  although  we  are  not 
disposed  to  laugh.     Your  game  has  been  a  cruel  one,  but  it  is 

played  out,  and  you  have  lost Stephen   Meredith 

is  with  his  wife  at  present  upstairs.  Shall  I  call  him.  .  .  . 
better  not.  You  kept  me  apart  from  him  by  reports  of  his 
violent  intentions  towards  me  when  I  should  have  seen  him 
at  once,  and  so  i)re vented  much  of  the  trouble  we  have  had. 
He  is  a  sturdy  fellow^  and  I  should  like  to  save  him  from 
getting  into  a  scrape.  Therefore  I  would  ask  you  to  take 
advantage  of  the  steamer  for  Rotterdam  to-night,  and  not  to 
return  to  London  until  his  and  my  passion  has  had  time  to 
cool." 

Rajiier's  face  was  yellow  and  his  lips  quivering.  But  he 
took  up  his  hat  jauntily  and  bowed  with  an  air  of  profound 
respect. 

"  Miss  Clark,  I  shall  always  be  your  devoted  servant. 
Dottridge,  you  have  lost  a  good  friend,  as  you  will  find  to  your 
cost  before  long ;  but  that  is  your  affair,  not  mine.  Please 
convey  my  respects  to  Meredith  and  his  wife.     Adieu !" 

He  walked  out  of  the  house  as  proudly  as  if  he  had  won  a 
victory  and  not  destroyed  his  whole  prospects  in  life.  He 
did  take  advantage  of  the  steamer  to  Rotterdam  that  night ; 
and  was  last  heard  of  as  a  financial  agent  in  Constantinople. 

During  the  long  illness  which  succeeded  Dahlia's  adventures 
at  Harwich  Stephen  was  her  faithful  attendant.  Night  and 
day  he  watched  over  her,  and  was  enabled  in  some  degree  to 
comprehend  how  much  she  loved  him  from  her  continual  raving 
about  him  in  her  delirium.  He  felt  bitterly  how  much  he  had 
wronged  her  in  his  passion,  and,  remorse  combined  with  pity, 
aroused  in  him  a  feeling  so  closely  akin  to  love  that  it  became  a 
sincere  devoted  attachment. 

He  sealed  up  Ruth's  diary,  and  locked  it  away,  resolved  never 
to  look  at  it  again — -resolved  always  to  think  of  the  woman  who 

G  G 


■izz:  -T=z: 


I  ■  ■ 


~»*-    "5*   rr^-i^TT    inu 


r^r     — furrr 


u 


■J*      ■*!■         -1. 


.T    lUiltTi 


!._ 


..»•• 


TT-.     .        — '    ^"^tJTira-TT^    -_. 


-  ::^.'    -»^.:-:*-  n  rr 


••^I.    lUiL  X-lf.    ISCiL: 


J     -  — 


•It  al 


■I  jr-imniirv^  i.'-'nra 


JU-fL-iT 


h 


A  FORGOTTEN  WELSH  WORTHY. 


An  Editorial  Reminiscence. 


**  Who  was  Sir  Thomas  Mallory  (sic)  and  what  was  he  noted 

for  ?  "  wrote  a  gentleman  from  the  town  of  C to  us  in  our 

capacity  of  editor  of  a  provincial  daily  newspaper  the  other 
day.  A  simple  question,  surely,  said  we  to  ourselves.  Sir 
Thomas  Mallory,  or  Malory,  was  the  author  of  the  Movie 
D* Arthur.  But  what  else  was  he  besides  being  an  author  ? 
Had  he  a  father,  had  he  a  mother,  of  what  country  and  what 
calling  was  he  ?  Our  correspondent  evidently  wanted  to  know. 
His  neatly  headed  note-paper  led  us  to  suspect  the  inquirer  to 
be  a  gentleman  of  some  culture,  the  possessor  of  a  library,  and 
therefore  one  who  would  not,  unless  for  good  and  sufficient 
reasons,  trouble  an  editor  upon  a  matter  which  he  could  decide 
for  himself  in  less  time  than  it  would  have  taken  him  to 
write  a  letter.  There  was  evidently  more  in  the  question  than 
we  had  given  it  credit  for. 

But  we  had  a  very  fair  library  of  reference.  Into  that  would 
we  dive,  and  our  answer  should  be  penned  oflf-hand  before  the 
next  letter  in  our  pile  was  touched.  We  took  up  the  biographical 
•dictionary  that  lay  nearest  to  our  study  chair — Cooper's.  We 
ran  rapidly  over  its  leaves,  with  something  like  disgust  to  find 
that  they  contained  not  a  whisper  of  Sir  Thomas  IVlalory  or  his 
magnu7n  opus.  Brewer's  Phrase  and  Fable  will  give  it,  we 
thought ;  if  not  "  Malory  "  at  least  something  under  "  Morte 
D' Arthur,"  or  "Arthur,"  which  will  furnish  a  clue.  But 
Brewer,  too,  was  silent.  "Ah!  these  cheap  books,"  we 
soliloquised  ;  "out  of  theifn  what  good  can  come  ?  "  Mackenzie's 
Imperial  is  sure  to  contain  as  much  of  the  man  as  we  want  for 
the  present  purpose.  But  Mackenzie's  Imperial  was  as  dumb 
as  the  dead.  And  we  had  paid  we  forget  now  how  many 
^ineas  for  it,  in  order  to  make  our  reference  library  as 
complete  as  an  editor's  reference  library  ought  to  be.  Et  Uf, 
Brute — this  was  the  unkindest  cut  of  all ! 

After  that  we  tried  the  Encyclopaedias,  beginning  with 
Chambers^  and  The  National^  and  ending  with  The  Penny  and 
the  very  last  brand-new  edition  of  the  Eiicyclopoedia  Britannica  ; 

G  G  2 


500  A  FORGOTTEN  WELSH  WORTHY. 

but  of  Sir  Thomas  Malorv  neither  of  them  could  show  a  line  or 
a  letter,  so  far  as  the  man's  personal  history  was  concemecL  In 
the  course  of  a  tolerably  long  editorial  experience  we  had 
particularly  noticed,  that  whenever  we  wanted  to  clear  up  any 
point  not  perfectly  well-known  to  everybody  in  the  world,  it  was 
of  not  the  slightest  use  to  consult  any  of  the  so-called  books  of 
reference.  But  for  a  dead  collapse  like  this  we  were,  honestly, 
not  prepared. 

We  now  determined  to  pursue  the  quest  diligently  on  our 
own  account.  It  was  game  we  had  a  tolerably  keen  nose  for, 
and  there  was  pleasure  and  excitement  in  the  hunt.  So  off  we 
started  merrily  through  half-a-dozen  English  histories — 
Macaulay's,  Hume  and  Smollett's,  Carte's,  everybody's  ;  through 
those  storehouses  of  miscellaneous  information  published  by 
Hone  and  Chambers — a  matter  of  six  thick  volumes ;  through 
the  Miscellaneous  Works  of  Edward  Gibbon,  Isaac  D'Israeli, 
and  Henry  Thomas  Buckle — one  and  twenty  volumes  more ; 
through  Boswell's  "  Johnson,"  and  the  latter's  "  Enghsh 
Poets";  we  tried  Forster's  "Goldsmith"  and  Goldsmith 
himself;  the  liambler^  Idlers  Adventurer^  Gonnaiasetcr^  Tailor, 
Guardian y  Spectaiai*^  the  notes  to  Scott,  to  Pope,  and  to  two 
or  three  Shakspeares,  the  Percy  Reliq\L€8^  and  some  twenty  or 
thirty  other  not  very  modem  works,  whose  titles  we  cannot 
now  recall.  But  of  Sir  Thomas  Malory  we  could  find  not  the 
faintest  scent  nor  the  faintest  echo.  Professor  Henry  Morley, 
although  in  his  English  Literahvre  in  the  Reign  of  Victoria 
he  gives  "  a  glance  at  the  past,"  passes  over  Sir  Thomas  and  his 
book  as  though  both  had  never  been.  The  Kev.  Stopford 
Brooke,  in  the  series  of  Literature  Primers,  published  by  the 
Messrs.  Macmillan,  mentions  Caxton  as  having  printed  "  the 
Morte  D'AHhur^  written  by  Sir  Thomas  Malory,  in  the  reign  of 
Edward  the  Fourth,  and  one  of  our  finest  and  simplest  examples 

of  early  prose with  all  the  care  of  one  who 

loved  '  the  noble  acts  of  chivalry.'  "      And  yet  of  the  author  of 
this  finest  and    simplest    example    of    early   prose   we    know 
less  than  we  do  of  the  author  of  the  (intrinsically)  rubbishy 
Paston    Letters^    or     Sir    John    Mandeville,    or  any    equally 
remote-living  individual.      And   why  ?      Was   it  because   Sir 
Thomas  Malory  was  a  Welshman,  or  was  it  because  he   was  a 
priest  ?     It  can  hardly  have  been  the  former,  because  as  yet 
the  contempt  for  everything  Welsh  had  not  set  in.    Neither  can 
it  have  been  the  latter,  because  the  rule  of  the  priest  was  then 
paramoimt.     The  lieformation  flashed  from  BuUen's  eyes  was 
an    event  of   several    hundred  years'  later  occurrence.      The 
famous   Vision  of  Piers  the  Plowman,  even  admitting  it  to 
have  been  made  public,  could  have  brought  about  no  more 
than  a  turn  in  the  nation's  sleep  when  Malory  was  busy  with 
his  Morte  D^ Arthur. 


A  FORGOTTEN  WELSH  WORTHY,  501 

Perhaps  if  we  in  this  place  attempt  to  fix  a  date  for  the 
production  of  the  book  it  will  serve  as  a  sort  of  rallying  point 
in  our  speculations,  otherwise  apt  to  become  confused  or  lost. 
Let  us  go  first  of  all  to  the  author  himself,  who  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  his  work  says  : — "  Here  is  the  end  of  the  whole  book  of 
King  Arthur  and  of  his  noble  Knights  of  the  Round  Table, 
that  when  they  were  whole  together  there  was  over  an  hundred 
and  forty*.  And  here  is  the  end  of  the  Death  of  Arthur. 
I  pray  you  all,  gentlemen  and  gentlewomen  that  read  this  book 
of  Arthur  and  his  Knights,  from  the  beginning  to  the  ending, 
pray  for  me  while  I  am  in  this  life,  that  God  send  me  good 
deliverance,  and  when  I  am  dead  I  pray  you  all  pray  for  my 
soul ;  for  this  book  was  ended  the  ninth  year  of  the  reign  of 
King  Edward  the  Fourth  by  Sir  Thomas  Maleore,  Knight,  as 
Jesu  help  him  for  his  great  might,  as  he  is  the  servant  of  Jesu 
both  day  and  night." 

Of  the  book  and  its  author  Caxton's  account  is  that  "  this 
following  history  was  first  written  in  the  French  and  Italian 
tongues,  so  much  did  the  poets  and  chronologers  of  foreign 
nations  admire  our  Arthur.  It  was  many  years  after  the  first 
writing  of  it  translated  into  English  by  the  painful  industry  of 
one  Sir  Thomas  Maleore,  Knight,  in  the  ninth  year  of  the 
reign  of  King  Edward  the  Fourth,  about  lo2  years  past; 
wherein  the  reader  may  see  the  best  form  and  manner  of 
writing  and  speech  that  was  in  use  at  those  times."  Where 
did  Caxton  get  his  manuscript  from  ?  He  is  perfectly  silent  on 
the  point.  At  the  end  of  the  paragraph  from  which  I  have 
just  quoted  he  says: — "It  is  1,114  years  since  King  Arthur's 
reign,  which  was  long  before  the  days  of  Edward  the  Fourth, 
whereby  it  may  be  mused  what  speech  they  used  above  1,100 
years  ago,  when  as  it  was  so  plain  and  simple  in  King  Edward's 
time." 

If  there  is  one  thing  in  the  foregoing  more  clear  than  another 
it  is  that  the  book  was  translated  into  English  in  the  ninth  year 
of  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Fourth.  That  is  a  positive  statement 
on  the  part  of  both  author  and  printer,  which  there  can  be  no  mis- 
taking. But  let  us  see  how  it  squares  with  the  fact  and  with  the 
subsequent  declaration  of  Caxton  himself.  Edward  the  Fourth 
we  know  was  crowned  in  1461,  so  that  the  ninth  year  of  his 
reign  would  bring  us  down  to  1470.  If,  therefore,  the 
statement  in  respect  to  the  translation's  having  been  made  in 
the  ninth  year  of  King  Edward  the  Fourth  be  correct,  the 
date  would  have  been  1470,  without  a  doubt.  Unfortunately, 
however,  this  statement  does  not  stand  alone,  for  Caxton,  in  the 
very  same  sentence  in  which  he  mentions  the  reign,  tacks  on 
the  extraordinary  announcement  "  152  years  past."  It  becomes 
a  matter  of  the  utmost  importance  that  we  should  understand 

*  The  book  itself  says  a  hundred  and  fifty.    See  lib.  viL,  cap.  i. 


492  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

"  Do  you  think  you  are  strong  eDOQgh  to  listen  to  me?"  H 
voice  was  low  and  even  gentle. 

After  a  long  time,  as  if  the  words  bsd  had  to  travel  &i  i 
order  to  reach  her  uDderstanding,  the  answer  came : — 

"Yes." 

"  I  see  you  have  been  wuffering  more  than  I  ever  thought  yc 
were  likely  to  do.  You  need  not  suffer  any  longer  if  you  ha" 
only  strength  to  write  three  lineB," 

"For  what  imrpose?  she  said  with  languid  indiflference. 

"  To  restore  you  to  your  home  in  perfect  confidence  that  yc 
are  safe,  and  that  Kuth  will  be  my  wife." 

She  started  a  little  at  Kuth's  name  ;  hut  she  waa  too  feeb 
to  sustain  any  passion. 

"  What  does  it  matter  to  me  whose  wife  she  is  ?"  was  hi 
bitter  cry,  "Stephen  never  cared  for  me — he  cannot  eve 
resjiect  me  now." 

"But  you  can  both  make  him  care  for  you  and  resi>ect  yo 
when  she  is  out  of  the  way.  Everything  is  in  your  own  |)owe 
Make  an  effort  to  write  three  lines  and  I  will  bring  Stephe 
to  you." 

"  You  will  bring  him  to  me — when  ?" 

With  that  exclamation  the  blood  tlnshed  to  her  cheek.s,  h< 
eyes  became  bright,  and  she  raised  herself  on  her  elbow, 

"  W'ithin  a  few  hours  —  I  pledge  myself  to  do  it." 

"  What  is  it  you  want  me  to  write  ?"  she  asked  with  nervou 
eagerness,  seizing  the  iit-n  with  trembling  band. 

"  Only  this :" 

"  /  will  come  home  as  soon  as  I  learn  that  Jiulh  haa  accepts 
Rapier." 

Bhe  wrote  the  words  and  signed  her  name.  Rapier  calml 
folded  the  paper  and  placed  it  in  an  envelope. 

"  Are  you  sure  he  will  come  ?"  she  moaned,  falling  bac! 
again  upon  the  couch, 

"  He  will  come,  you  may  be  satisfied  of  that." 

Having  rung  the  bell  for  the  housekeeper,  Kapier  left  Dnbli 
in  her  charge,  promising  to  be  back  with  good  news  in  less  thai 
an  hour. 

He  went  straight  to  the  harbour  and  found  the  man  at  tli' 
pier  ticket  office,  smoking  and  leaning  against  one  of  the  post 
just  as  he  had  left  him.  That  was  good :  Ruth  was  still  in  th 
hotel.  The  man  assured  him  of  that,  and  immediately  walke 
away. 

Rapier  crossed  to  the  hotel,  and  learned  that  Miss  Clark  ba 
gone  out  immediately  on  hearing  the  rumour  that  a  Strang 
lady  had  been  found  insensible  on  the  beach.  The  signal  ha 
been  given  to  his  spy,  but  that  worthy  had  either  not  obaerv-e 
it  or  had  deceived  him. 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  493 

CHAPTER  LX.— "A  Hit,  a  VERy  Palpable  Hit," 

If  he  could  only  see  Buth  before  she  had  an  opportunity  of 
conversing  with  Dahlia,  all  would  be  well.  She  must  be  very 
anxious  to  restore  harmony  to  the  house  of  Derewood,  or  she 
would  never  have  travelled  all  this  way  in  search  of  its  lost 
mistress.  That  anxiety  was  the  lever  by  which  he  should  be 
able  to  move  her  to  his  purpose. 

Everything,  however,  depended  upon  his  being  able  to  play 
his  trump  card — Dahlia's  letter — and  obtain  her  consent  before 
the  women  could  exchange  confidences.  Here  he  had  been 
most  unexpectedly  foiled  by  the  stupidity  or  treachery  of  his 
scout.     But  the  game  was  not  lost  yet. 

He  returned  to  the  doctor's  house,  and  when  the  house- 
keeper opened  the  door,  his  first  observation  was  : 

**  I  hope  she  has  not  been  disturbed  during  my  absence  ?" 

"No,  sir;  I  don't  think  she  has  been  disturbed,"  said  the 
woman,  sharply,  as  if  all  this  extra  duty  was  trying  her  temper. 
"  She  has  been  a  -little  uneasy,  and  I've  covered  her  up  to  keep 
her  warm." 

"  Has  the  doctor  returned  ?" 

"  Not  yet — there's  no  saying  when  he  may  come  back  once 
he  goes  out.  He  ain't  like  other  men  as  can  say  when  they'll 
come  and  when  they'll  go." 

Rapier  did  not  like  the  woman's  manner ;  but  this  was  not 
the  time  to  (juarrel  with  anybody. 

"  If  anyone  should  come  asking  for  Mrs.  Meredith  or  Mrs. 
Whitcombe,  you  will  please  to  call  me,"  he  said,  quietly,  as  he 
passed  into  the  room  very  softly. 

The  blinds  were  down,  and  he  seemed  to  have  passed 
suddenly  out  of  daylight  into  dusk.  All  the  objects  around  him 
were  indistinct ;  but  presently  he  made  out  the  form  on  the 
couch  covered  with  blankets  and  rugs.  He  fancied  he  detected 
a  movement,  and,  therefore,  spoke. 

"  Are  you  sleeping,  Dahlia  ?" 

There  was  a  pause ;  but  the  figure  moved  again,  and  at 
length  there  was  a  response  in  a  feeble  voice. 

"  No     ....     Is  he  coming  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,  by-and-bye.  Do  not  doubt  it.  I  expect  him 
every  moment.  "  But  meanwhile  I  want  to  tell  you  what  may 
be  unpleasant  news — fiuth  is  in  Harwich,  and,  no  doubt,  wants 
to  see  you." 

**  Well  ?"  was  the  muffled  query  from  under  the  blankets. 

**  Well,  I  don't  want  you  to  see  her  until  we  have  got  her 
promise  to  make  you  happy  by  accepting  me." 

A  pause,  during  which  the  invalid  appeared  to  be  breathing 
heavily  and  gathering  strength  for  the  next  question. 

"  I  have  told  you,"  she  said  faintly,  "  that  I  do  not  care  now 


le:  sitr 


nr  lire     I  vxi^t  cs&lj  to  be  foigiven  h 


*-=jiii  jjT.  ▼^Il  n«.  X  :\Trr5*e-    Bsn  too  aeem  to  be  f<»gettiD| 
"*  *  15  it  7" 


*-  .  '1-  j.TL  31-1^::  rrsiiezLrfcKr  "Lhiti  j-:m  pledged  TOtmelf  to  hel 
3irr  v-T-L  i>L  Ti'iz  T»:v^  * :  wtL  EsT  h :  uid  to  tbst  end  yoa  wej 
t:  iit:  niftrc  nj  ::r«*:ijnr-.  >;•  itr  tcai  bare  kept  your  promis 
I»:  src  ii^  zirr  ziyw  wztttl  s-u^i^ess-  5*  "•rithin  my  grasp.  If  yc 
^w-_l  :c^^  S  zruz  ":  z^t  :z.  :i-s.  Erti  ▼ill  consieiit  as  soon  as  si 


*I    jOir.'^lT   rf^TZLrer   -•Ll:    I   irrote   in    tbe   letter — Tt 

•.l:  :-r  -Ji.ti^i':  l-fc  n^izii  ^^:>:  be  vandering  very  mnch,  bi 
hrr  :.i-f^Trei  iis.tiTi.tl7  r--'-^;*:!: 

•  T-f-rv  ^1^  n.-.'-'T^  rj:cf  ii:  r:  ir-SLH  the  ^atement  that  vc 
■r:ciLi  p:   -.clt  -ls  >>:c  i*  y:-::  krirw  that  Kuth  had  accepts 

.\z:'.:lrr  ru->r  :.- i  :ir  inTilii  >rriDed  to  Imeathe  with  moi 
o.-r^::il:T  t.i-  r»r  f.-r^-     Tirz,  i>  ti-lL  a  painful  effort : 


-  \^  lY  ii  ::  Tj-  iT^  >:  r-iCrr  :o  irin  Kuth  when  she  does  n< 
care  fee  t:u:* 

He  liUi:Lr*i  li^i:>  ^zi  piss^d  Lis  hand  throogh  his  hair. 

- HcT  15  ::  y:~  live  ':»rv-:tr.e  f^?  curious*  Dahlia?     I  thongl 

vou  Lii  llIv  c- e  ccjecc  to  ^erre — to  get  Rath  out  of  vour  wa 

— aiid  :Lit  1  wis  Irlpin*:  you  to  aco:»mplish  it.     However,  th 

answer  to  ycur  :-e>tion  i-  that  1  like  her  and  hope  that  by-and 

bye  sLe  will  leAm  to  like  me.'" 

s  tHiit  a^  r 

-XN'Lat  else  should  there  be?" 

'•There  inu^*  be  something  else." 

'^Weil.   perhaps   there   is,"   be  said  slowly.     "Can   I  trus 

vou  y 

"  I  hcM^K  so.  .  .  .  Unless  yon  trust  me  yon  may  find  m 
fail  in  fuJnlling  the  terms  of  our  bargain." 

^  There  can  be  no  harm  in  telling  you  that,  besides  likin 
her,  1  know  she  ha^  a  considerable  fortune  which  would  mak 
me  verv  comfortable  for  life." 

The  figure  on  the  couch  made  an  apparently  convulsiv 
movement,  and  when  she  s|K>ke  again  the  voice  was  very  husk] 

**  Kuth  I  a  fortune  !  .  .  .  you  are  mad.  You  know  tha 
she  was  left  destitute  and  owes  everything  to  Mr.  Dottridgi 
Be  wise  in  tijie  and  turn  your  thoughts  elsewhere.  Ruth  ha 
nothing.'' 

"  I  see  you  are  recovering  and  I  am  glad  of  that,  for  you  wi 
be  all  the  better  able  to  help  me,"  he  said  coolly. 

"  Your  advice  is  excellent,  and  I  shoidd  certainly  adopt  it  if 
did  not  possess  special  information.     She  certainly  does  o^ 


OF  HIGH  DEGEEE.  495 

everything  to  Dottridge,  and  that  everything  includes  the 
fortune  of  which  I  speak.  She  knows  nothing  about  it.  Only 
Dottridge  who  gives  it,  Bassnett  who  drew  up  the  deed,  and  I 
who  have  read  the  deed,  know  that  she  is  an  heiress.  Now  you 
know  the  whole  state  of  affairs ;  I  helped  you  to  get  Meredith  ; 
I  am  helping  you  back  to  him ;  and  I  expect  you  to  keep  faith 
with  me.     Kemember  you  are  helping  yourself  in  helping  me." 

For  a  moment  there  was  perfect  stillness  in  the  room.  The 
invalid  did  not  move,  and  seemed  almost  as  if  she  had  ceased 
to  breathe ;  but  presently  she  spoke  again,  and  the  wcrcls  were 
uttered  with  singular  distinctness. 

"  You  expect  me  to  help  you  to  force  Ruth  to  marry  you 
against  her  own  wish  and  will  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  expect  you  to  keep  your  promise.  You  need 
have  no  qualms  of  conscience  about  it,  because  she  will  soon 
be  contented  with  her  lot.  And  if  she  is  not — why,  then  we 
can  separate.  There  will  be  enough  for  both  of  us  when  the 
fortune  is  divided." 

"  I  know  you  now." 

There  was  something  startling  in  the  words  and  in  the  firm 
tone  of  their  pronunciation.  There  was  something  still  more 
startling  in  the  slow  movement  of  the  invalid's  arm  thrusting 
back  the  coverings,  and  in  the  slow  rising  of  a  tall  dark  figure 
from  the  couch. 

Rapier  sprang  from  his  chair,  and  there  was  amazement,  fear^ 
and  rage  in  his  voice  as  he  exclaimed, 

«  Ruth  ! " 

He  could  say  no  more.  He  stood  dumbly  staring  at  her 
with  the  bitter  sense  that  he  had  been  foiled  by  his  own 
weapons ;  that  he  had  been  actually  trepanned  into  a  confession 
of  his  own  scheme  to  the  very  person  for  whose  enmeshment 
they  were  designed.  His  trump  card  was  not  only  valueless 
now,  it  was  the  proof  of  his  treacherous  machinations. 

Ruth  stood  so  still,  so  stem  that  she  seemed  to  tower 
above  the  discomfited  gambler.  But  in  the  interval  of  awed 
silence,  his  quick  wits  were  at  work.  He  was  even  at  this 
moment  seeking  some  explanation  by  which  to  turn  the 
exposure  to  advantage,  or  at  any  rate  to  find  the  means  of 
hiding  it  from  Dottridge. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Rapier,"  said  Ruth  coldly,  **  that  the  conversa- 
tion which  we  have  just  had  will  satisfy  you  tliat  you  would 
only  be  wasting  your  valuable  time  in  any  further  efforts  to 
compel  me  to  marry  you.  I  now  understand  why  you  made 
the  suggestion  to  Mr.  Dottridge  which  has  caused  so  much 
unhappiness,  and  I  now  understand  why  the  telegram  from 
Sydney  was  not  delivered  until  too  late  to  be  of  any  use." 

Much  to  her  surprise  the  brief  consternation  of  Rapier 
entirely  disappeared.    He  laughed  heartily. 


OF  HIOH  DEGREE.  497 

second  surprise,  and  made  another  bold  effort  to  maintain  his 
position. 

"  It  is  not  fair,  Dottridge,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  felt  himself  aggrieved  by  the  falsehood  of  a  friend. 
**  Y'ou  pledged  yourself  that  you  would  not  stand  in  my  way  or 
grudge  me  my  success." 

'^  I  pledged  myself,  sir,"  retorted  Dottridge,  frowning,  "  to 
accept  whatever  decision  Miss  Clark  might  come  to  regarding 
her  future,  provided  the  decision  was  made  of  her  own  free 
will,  and  not  under  compulsion.  I  had  no  suspicion  then  of 
the  abominable  devices  you  had  practised  to  destroy  the  happi- 
ness of  my  adopted  daughter  and  of  this  lady." 

"  What  devices  ?"  queried  Rapier  defiantly. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Dottridge,  with  a  scornful  movement  of 
his  hand.  "  The  joke  is  on  our  side  now,  although  we  are  not 
disposed  to  laugh.     Your  game  has  been  a  cruel  one,  but  it  is 

played  out,  and  you  have  lost Stephen   Meredith 

is  with  his  wife  at  present  upstairs.  Shall  I  call  him.  .  .  . 
better  not.  You  kept  me  apart  from  him  by  reports  of  his 
violent  intentions  towards  me  when  I  should  have  seen  him 
at  once,  and  so  prevented  much  of  the  trouble  we  have  had. 
He  is  a  sturdy  fellow^  and  I  should  like  to  save  him  from 
getting  into  a  scrape.  Therefore  I  would  ask  you  to  take 
advantage  of  the  steamer  for  Rotterdam  to-night,  and  not  to 
return  to  London  until  his  and  my  passion  has  had  time  to 
cool." 

Rapier's  face  was  yellow  and  his  lips  quivering.  But  he 
took  up  his  hat  jauntily  and  bowed  with  an  air  of  profound 
resi)ect. 

"  Jliss  Clark,  I  shall  always  be  your  devoted  8er\'ant. 
Dottridge,  you  have  lost  a  good  friend,  as  you  will  find  to  your 
cost  before  long ;  but  that  is  your  affair,  not  mine.  Please 
convey  my  respects  to  Meredith  and  his  wife.     Adieu !" 

He  walked  out  of  the  house  as  proudly  as  if  he  had  won  a 
victory  and  not  destroyed  his  whole  prospects  in  life.  He 
did  take  advantage  of  the  steamer  to  Rotterdam  that  night ; 
and  was  last  heard  of  as  a  financial  agent  in  Constantinople. 

•  .••a... 

During  the  long  illness  which  succeeded  Dahlia's  adventures 
at  Harwich  Stephen  was  her  faithful  attendant.  Night  and 
day  he  watched  over  her,  and  was  enabled  in  some  degree  to 
comprehend  how  much  she  loved  him  from  her  continual  raving 
about  him  in  her  delirium.  He  felt  bitterly  how  nmch  he  had 
wronged  her  in  his  passion,  and,  remorse  combined  with  pity, 
aroused  in  him  a  feeling  so  closely  akin  to  love  that  it  became  a 
sincere  devoted  attachment. 

He  sealed  up  Ruth's  diary,  and  locked  it  away,  resolved  never 
to  look  at  it  again — ^resolved  always  to  think  of  the  woman  who 

G  G 


49G  OF  HIGH  DEGEEE. 

"  I  can't  keep  it  up  any  longer,"  he  said,  trying  to  control  his 
mirth.  "  Why,  Euth,  do  you  think  I  did  not  know  who  I  was 
speaking  to  ?  Do  you  think  I  did  not  understand  the  whole 
position  ?  .  .  .  .  You  heard  of  the  lady  found  on  the 
beach  in  a  ht ;  you  learned  that  she  had  been  carried  to  the 
doctor's,  and  left  there  ;  you  guessed  that  it  was  Dahlia,  and  you 
<5ame  here  whilst  I  was  absent  seeking  you.  Then  you  had  her 
removed  to  a  bedroom ;  you  listened  to  the  poor  creature's 
ravings ;  you  believed  them,  and  you  took  her  place  here  on 
the  couch  in  the  hope  of  catching  me  in  some  deception. 
Why,  the  first  sound  of  your  voice  betrayed  you,  and  I  have 
been  simply  carrying  on  the  joke  which  you  began." 

He  laughed  again,  and  Euth  was  for  an  instant  disconcerted 
by  his  clever  divination  of  all  that  had  occurred. 

"  What  joke  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  joke  that  I  was  seeking  you  not  because  of  yourself, 
but  because  of  some  unknown  fortune  you  possessed.  You  see 
the  laugh  is  on  my  side.  You  have  no  fortune,  Euth,  except 
what  we  may  gain  together ;  and  I  daresay  Dottridge  will  give 
us  something  handsome  to  begin  life  with.  Indeed  he  has 
iilmost  promised  as  much  if  you  will  act  sensibly  and  accept  a 
man  who  is  entirely  devoted  to  you.     Eefuse,  and '* 

"  Well  ?  "  she  asked  calmly  as  he  paused. 

"You  can  no  longer  live  at  Kemerton,  and  your  visit  to 
Harwich  is  so  associated  with  me  that  I  can  make  it  a  disgrace 
to  you  even  in  the  eyes  of  Dottridge." 

"  That  you  can  never  do,"  said  a  stem  voice  behind  him. 

Turning  quickly  he  was  confronted  by  Dottridge  himself, 
who  had  been  at  the  door  all  the  time,  and  unable  to  endure 
the  man's  insolence  and  treachery  any  longer,  had  at  that 
moment  entered  the  room. 

"  You  here,  too  ! "  ejaculated  Eapier. 

Passing  him  contemptuously,  Dottridge  advanced  to  Euth 
and  took  her  hand. 

"  What  this  fellow  has  told  you  is  quite  true,  Euth,"  he  said 
to  her  gently ;  *'  you  have  a  fortune  which  some  people  would 
think  considerable.  But  I  did  not  wish  you  to  know  about  it 
until  after  my  death,  or  until — well,  until  another  event  about 
which  we  need  not  speak  at  present.  I  can  easily  guess  how 
he  came  to  know  of  it — he  had  the  key  of  my  private  safe  one 
night.  But  that  was  not  the  time  when  he  first  became  aware 
of  it.  More  than  three  years  ago  I  made  a  note  in  pencil ; 
that  note  accurately  stated  my  intentions  as  thej  are  expressed 
in  my  will.  The  paper  disappeared ;  I  believed  that  I  had 
destroyed  it  and  forgotten  the  circumstance.  He  must  have 
taken  it  from  the  table.  That  is  why  he  has  so  persistently 
sought  you." 

Eapier  had   by  this  time  recovered    somewhat   firom   his 


OF  HIGH  DEGREE.  497 

second  surprise,  and  made  another  bold  effort  to  maintain  his 
position. 

"  It  is  not  fair,  Dottridge,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  felt  himself  aggrieved  by  the  falsehood  of  a  friend. 
*'  You  pledged  yourself  that  you  would  not  stand  in  my  way  or 
grudge  me  my  success." 

"  I  pledged  myself,  sir,"  retorted  Dottridge,  frowning,  "  to 
accept  whatever  decision  Miss  Clark  might  come  to  regarding 
her  future,  provided  the  decision  was  made  of  her  own  free 
will,  and  not  under  compulsion.  I  had  no  suspicion  then  of 
the  abominable  devices  you  had  practised  to  destroy  the  happi- 
ness of  my  adopted  daughter  and  of  this  lady." 

"  What  devices  ?"  queried  Rapier  defiantly. 

"  Tliat  will  do,"  said  Dottridge,  with  a  scornful  movement  of 
his  hand.  "  The  joke  is  on  our  side  now,  although  we  are  not 
disposed  to  laugli.     Your  game  has   been  a  cruel  one,  but  it  is 

played  out,  and  you  have  lost Stephen   Meredith 

is  with  his  wife  at  present  upstairs.  Shall  I  call  him.  .  .  . 
better  not.  You  kept  me  apart  from  him  by  reports  of  his 
violent  intentions  towards  me  when  I  should  have  seen  him 
at  once,  and  so  prevented  much  of  the  trouble  we  have  had. 
He  is  a  sturdy  fellow^  and  I  should  Hire  to  save  him  from 
getting  into  a  scrape.  Therefore  I  would  ask  you  to  take 
advantage  of  the  steamer  for  Rotterdam  to-night,  and  not  to 
return  to  London  until  his  and  my  passion  has  had  time  to 
cool." 

liapier's  face  was  yellow  and  his  lips  quivering.  But  he 
took  up  his  hat  jauntily  and  bowed  with  an  air  of  profound 
respect. 

"  Miss  Clark,  I  shall  always  be  your  devoted  servant. 
Dottridge,  you  have  lost  a  good  friend,  as  you  will  find  to  your 
cost  before  long ;  but  that  is  your  affair,  not  mine.  Please 
convey  my  respects  to  Meredith  and  his  wife.     Adieu !" 

He  walked  out  of  the  house  as  proudly  as  if  he  had  won  a 
victory  and  not  destroyed  his  whole  prospects  in  life.  He 
did  take  advantage  of  the  steamer  to  Rotterdam  that  night ; 
nnd  was  last  heard  of  as  a  financial  agent  in  Constantinople. 

During  the  long  illness  which  succeeded  Dahlia's  adventures 
at  Harwich  Stephen  was  her  faithful  attendant.  Night  and 
day  he  watched  over  her,  and  was  enabled  in  some  degree  to 
comprehend  how  much  she  loved  him  from  her  continual  raving 
about  him  in  her  delirium.  He  felt  bitterly  how  much  he  had 
wronged  her  in  his  passion,  and,  remorse  combined  with  pity, 
aroused  in  him  a  feeling  so  closely  akin  to  love  that  it  became  a 
sincere  devoted  attachment. 

He  sealed  up  Ruth's  diary,  and  locked  it  away,  resolved  never 
to  look  at  it  again — ^resolved  always  to  think  of  the  woman,  wlvo* 

G  G 


498  OF  HIGH  DEGREE. 

had  written  it  as  one  dead,  and  to  regard  the  woman  who  bore 
her  name  as  a  good  friend ;  no  more. 

When  the  summer  came,  and  Dahlia  was  able  to  go  out,  he 
took  her  with  him  everywhere,  over  the  farm,  to  the  markets, 
and  to  town. 

"  They  be  a  rare  fond  couj)le,"  said  the  country  folk  as  they 
saw  them  pass,  and  no  one  suspected  through  what  misery  they 
had  reached  their  happiness, 

.......  • 

Kemerton  was  closed  again,  and  this  time  it  was  said  to  be 
in  the  hands  of  an  agent  to  be  let  or  sold,  furnished  or  unfur- 
nished. Kuth  had  gone  away  immediately  after  the  return  of 
the  party  from  Harwich,  Stephen's  wild  determination  that 
she  should  never  marry  Dottridge  had,  of  course,  been  aban- 
doned as  soon  as  his  eyes  became  clearer,  and  he  understood 
the  real  course  of  events.  But  Ruth,  although  she  liked 
Dottridge,  and  had  learned  to  admire  him  in  many  ways  for  his 
conduct  in  the  various  trials  through  which  they  had  jiassed, 
still  refused  to  become  his  wife. 

She  went  away  with  the  explicit  understanding  that  for  a 
year  Dottridge  shcpuld  neither  meet  her  nor  communicate  with 
her. 

Dottridge,  restless  and  unhappy,  sought  relief  in  travelling. 
He  did  not  care  to  visit  Kemerton  again,  for  every  corner  of  the 
place  reminded  him  of  the  woman  he  loved,  and  who  apparently 
could  never  love  him. 

But  about  fifteen  months  after  that  journey  to  Harwich 
there  was  a  fete  day  in  Dunthorpe.  There  were  rejoicings 
afoot  which  seemed  to  bring  to  the  })arish  church  not  only  all 
the  nobility  and  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood  but  all  the 
peasantry  of  the  district  for  miles  round. 

The  occasion  was  the  marriage  of  Humphrey  Dottridge,  Esq., 
of  Kemerton,  to  Ruth  Clark, 

[The  End.] 


A  FORGOTTEN  WELSH  WORTHY. 


An  Editorial  Reminiscence. 


"  Who  was  Sir  Thomas  IVIallory  (sic)  and  what  was  he  noted 

for  ?  "  wrote  a  gentleman  from  the  town  of  C to  us  in  our 

<»pacity  of  editor  of  a  provincial  daily  newspaper  the  other 
day.  A  simple  question,  surely,  said  we  to  ourselves.  Sir 
Thomas  Mallory,  or  Malory,  was  the  author  of  the  Morte 
D^ Arthur,  But  what  else  was  he  besides  being  an  author  ? 
Had  he  a  father,  had  he  a  mother,  of  what  country  and  what 
calling  was  he  ?  Our  correspondent  evidently  wanted  to  know. 
His  neatly  headed  note-^mper  led  us  to  suspect  the  inquirer  to 
be  a  gentleman  of  some  culture,  the  possessor  of  a  library,  and 
therefore  one  who  would  not,  unless  for  good  and  sufficient 
reasons,  trouble  an  editor  upon  a  matter  which  he  could  decide 
for  himself  in  less  time  than  it  would  have  taken  him  to 
write  a  letter.  There  was  evidently  more  in  the  question  than 
we  had  given  it  credit  for. 

But  we  had  a  very  fair  library  of  reference.  Into  that  would 
we  dive,  and  our  answer  should  be  penned  oflF-hand  before  the 
next  letter  in  our  pile  was  touched.  We  took  up  the  biographical 
■dictionary  that  lay  nearest  to  our  study  chair — Cooper's.  We 
ran  rapidly  over  its  leaves,  with  something  like  disgust  to  find 
that  they  contained  not  a  whisper  of  Sir  Thomas  Malory  or  his 
"magnum  opus.  Brewer's  Phrase  and  Fable  will  give  it,  we 
thought ;  if  not  "  Malory  "  at  least  something  under  "  Morte 
D' Arthur,"  or  ''Arthur,"  which  will  furnish  a  clue.  But 
Brewer,  too,  was  silent.  "  Ah !  these  cheap  books,"  we 
soliloquised  ;  *'out  of  thera  what  good  can  come  ?  "  Mackenzie's 
Imperial  is  sure  to  contain  as  much  of  the  man  as  we  want  for 
the  present  purpose.  But  Mackenzie's  Imperial  was  as  dumb 
as  the  dead.  And  we  had  paid  we  forget  now  how  many 
^ineas  for  it,  in  order  to  make  our  reference  library  as 
complete  as  an  editor's  reference  library  ought  to  be.  Et  tu 
Brute — this  was  the  unkindest  cut  of  all ! 

After  that  we  tried  the  Encyclopaedias,  beginning  with 
Chambers'  and  The  National,  and  ending  with  The  Penny  and 
the  very  last  brand-new  edition  of  the  Encyclopcedia  BrUannica  ; 

G  G  2 


500  A  FORGOTTEN  VVELSH  WOETHY. 

but  of  Sir  Thomas  Malorv  neither  of  them  could  show  a  line  or 
a  letter,  so  far  as  the  man's  personal  history  was  concerned.  In 
the  course  of  a  tolerably  long  editorial  experience  we  had 
particularly  noticed,  that  whenever  we  wanted  to  clear  up  any 
point  not  perfectly  well-known  to  everybody  in  the  world,  it  was 
of  not  the  slightest  use  to  consult  any  of  the  so-called  books  of 
reference.  But  for  a  dead  collapse  like  this  we  were,  honestly, 
not  prepared. 

We  now  determined  to  pursue  the  quest  diligently  on  our 
own  account.  It  was  game  we  had  a  tolerably  keen  nose  for, 
and  there  was  pleasure  and  excitement  in  the  hunt.  So  oflf  we 
started  merrily  through  half-a-dozen  English  histories — 
Macaulay's,  Hume  and  Smollett's,  Carte's,  everybody's  ;  through 
those  storehouses  of  miscellaneous  information  published  by 
Hone  and  Chambers — a  matter  of  six  thick  volumes ;  through 
the  Miscellaneous  Works  of  Edward  Gibbon,  Isaac  D'Israeli, 
and  Henry  Thomas  Buckle — one  and  twenty  volumes  more ; 
through  Boswell's  "  Johnson,"  and  the  latter  s  ''  English 
Poets " ;  we  tried  Forster's  "  Goldsmith "  and  Goldsmith 
himself;  the  Rambler^  Icller^  Adventurer^  Connoisseury  Tailor, 
Guardian^  Spectator^  the  notes  to  Scott,  to  Pope,  and  to  two 
or  three  Shakspeares,  the  Percy  Reliqnes^  and  some  twenty  or 
thirty  other  not  very  modern  works,  whose  titles  we  cannot 
now  recall.  But  of  Sir  Thomas  Malory  we  could  find  not  the 
faintest  scent  nor  the  faintest  echo.  Professor  Henry  Alorley, 
although  in  his  English  Literature  in  the  Reign  of  Victoria 
he  gives  "  a  glance  at  the  past,"  passes  over  Sir  Thomas  and  his 
book  as  though  both  had  never  been.  The  Rev.  Stopford 
Brooke,  in  the  series  of  Literature  P rimer 8^  published  by  the 
Messrs.  Macmillan,  mentions  Caxton  as  having  printed  "  the 
Morte  D* Arthur^  written  by  Sir  Thomas  Malory,  in  the  reign  of 
Edward  the  Fourth,  and  one  of  our  finest  and  simplest  examples 

of  early  prose with  all  the  care  of  one  who 

loved  '  the  noble  acts  of  chivalry,'  "  And  yet  of  the  author  of 
this  finest  and  simplest  example  of  early  prose  we  know 
less  than  we  do  of  the  author  of  the  (intrinsically)  rubbishy 
Paston  Lettei'8^  or  Sir  John  jNIandeville,  or  any  equally 
remote-living  individual.  And  why  ?  Was  it  because  Sir 
Thomas  Malory  was  a  Welshman,  or  was  it  because  he  was  a 
priest  ?  It  can  hardly  have  been  the  former,  because  as  yet 
the  contempt  for  everything  Welsh  had  not  set  in.  Neither  can 
it  have  been  the  latter,  because  the  rule  of  the  priest  was  then 
paramount.  The  Reformation  flashed  from  BuUen's  eyes  was 
an  event  of  several  hundred  years'  later  occurrence.  The 
famous  Vision  of  Piers  the  Plowman^  even  admitting  it  to 
have  been  made  public,  could  have  brought  about  no  more 
than  a  turn  in  the  nation's  sleep  when  Malory  was  busy  with 
his  Morte  D^ Arthur* 


A  FORGOTTEN  \V^LSH  WORTHY,  501 

Perhaps  if  we  in  this  place  attempt  to  fix  a  date  for  the 
production  of  the  book  it  will  serve  as  a  sort  of  rallying  point 
in  our  speculations,  otherwise  apt  to  become  confused  or  lost. 
Let  us  go  first  of  all  to  the  author  himself,  who  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  his  work  says  : — "  Here  is  the  end  of  the  whole  book  of 
King  Arthur  and  of  his  noble  Knights  of  the  Round  Table, 
that  when  they  were  whole  together  there  was  over  an  hundred 
and  forty*.  And  here  is  the  end  of  the  Death  o£  Arthur. 
I  pray  you  all,  gentlemen  and  gentlewomen  that  read  this  book 
of  Arthur  and  his  Knights,  from  the  beginning  to  the  ending, 
pray  for  me  while  I  am  in  this  life,  that  God  send  me  good 
deliverance,  and  when  I  am  dead  I  pray  you  all  pray  for  my 
soul ;  for  this  book  was  ended  the  ninth  year  of  the  reign  of 
King  Edward  the  Fourth  by  Sir  Thomas  Maleore,  Knight,  as 
Jesu  help  him  for  his  great  might,  as  he  is  the  servant  of  Jesu 
both  day  and  night." 

Of  the  book  and  its  author  Caxton's  account  is  that  "  this 
following  history  was  first  written  in  the  French  and  Italian 
tongues,  80  much  did  the  poets  and  chronologers  of  foreign 
nations  admire  our  Arthur.  It  was  many  years  after  the  first 
writing  of  it  translated  into  English  by  the  painful  industry  of 
one  Sir  Thomas  Maleore,  Knight,  in  the  ninth  year  of  the 
reign  of  King  Edward  the  Fourth,  about  152  years  past; 
wherein  the  reader  may  see  the  best  form  and  manner  of 
writing  and  speech  that  was  in  use  at  those  times."  Where 
did  Caxton  get  his  manuscript  firom  ?  He  is  perfectly  silent  on 
the  point.  At  the  end  of  the  paragraph  from  which  I  have 
just  quoted  he  says: — "It  is  1,114  years  since  King  Arthur's 
reign,  which  was  long  before  the  days  of  Edward  the  Fourth, 
whereby  it  may  be  mused  what  speech  they  used  above  1,100 
years  ago,  when  as  it  was  so  plain  and  simple  in  King  Edward's 
time." 

If  there  is  one  thing  in  the  foregoing  more  clear  than  another 
it  is  that  the  book  was  translated  into  English  in  the  ninth  year 
of  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Fourth.  That  is  a  positive  statement 
on  the  part  of  both  author  and  printer,  which  there  can  be  no  mis- 
taking. But  let  us  see  how  it  squares  with  the  fact  and  with  the 
subsequent  declaration  of  Caxton  himself.  Edward  the  Fourth 
we  know  was  crowned  in  1461,  so  that  the  ninth  year  of  his 
reign  would  bring  us  down  to  1470.  If,  therefore,  the 
statement  in  respect  to  the  translation's  having  been  made  in 
the  ninth  year  of  King  Edward  the  Fourth  be  correct,  the 
date  would  have  been  1470,  without  a  doubt.  Unfortunately, 
however,  this  statement  does  not  stand  alone,  for  Caxton,  in  the 
very  same  sentence  in  which  he  mentions  the  reign,  tacks  on 
the  extraordinary  announcement  "  152  years  past."  It  becomes 
a  matter  of  the  utmost  importance  that  we  should  understand 

*  The  book  itself  says  a  hundred  and  fifty.    See  lib.  viL,  cap.  i. 


502  A  FOEGOTTEN  WELSH  WORTHY. 

this  before  moving  an  inch  further.  Caxton's  present  tense,  no 
doubt,  had  reference  to  the  year  in  which  he  printed  the  Morte 
D' Arthur,  This  we  know  from  several  sources — the  book 
itself  being,  of  course,  the  principal — was  1485.  Detiucting  from 
this  the  "  152  years  past,"  we  find  ourselves  in  1333,  back  in  the 
reign  of  Edward  the  Third,  the  year  when  Halidon  Hill  was 
fought,  just  137yearsbeforethe  ninth  of  Edward  the  Fourth.  Just 
let  us  think  a  moment  where  the  ninth  of  Edward  the  Fourth  will 
take  us  to.  Why,  in  that  very  year,  Caxton  assuming  him  to 
have  been  born  in  1412,  must  have  been  fifty-eight  years  old. 
The  Game  and  Playe  of  the  Cheese^  which  Hallazn  refers  to 
1474,  and  s^^aks  of  as  "supposed  to  have  been  the  first 
specimen  of  English  typography,"  was  printed  only  four  years 
after  the  translation  of  the  Morte^  if  the  ninth  of  Eldward  the 
Fourth  be  the  year  in  which  that  was  accomplished.* 

Although  the  proceeding  may  be  a  little  episodical,  I  prefer 
mentioning  here,  to  doing  so  in  a  footnote,  a  little  difficulty  I,  a 
country  editor,  experienced,  which  I  would  have  been  able  to  solve 
with  but  very  little  trouble  if  I  had  been  in  London.  You  will  have 
observed  my  reference  to  Hallam  just  now.  In  his  Literature 
of  Europe  (vol.  L,  c.  3,  p.  171,  3rd  edition,  Murray,  1847)  the 
historian  says  of  Caxton's  Playe  of  the  Chesse  that  it  is  **  a  slight 
and  short  performance,  referred  to  1474,  though  wUhout  a  date.** 
Now  Lowndes,  whose  Bibliographer's  Manual  is  about  as  good 
an  authority  as  a  provincial  editor  can  hope  to  possess,  descrilies 
the  book  as  a  folio — such  as,  I  suppose,  all  Caxton's  are — issued  in 
1474,  and  *'  the  first  book  printed  by  Caxton  with  a  date."  Of 
course,  now  that  I  have  had  the  opportunity  of  calling  attention 
to  the  matter  in  the  pages  of  a  magazine  like  the  Red  Dragon^ 
I  shall  have  answers  in  plenty  to  decide  between  Lowndes — or 
it  may  be  Mr  Bohn — and  Hallam,  who  are  directly  at  issue  on 
the  point  apparently.     But  to  return  to  our  muttons. 

In  connection  with  this  question  of  dates  one  'more  point 
requires  clearing  up.  And  I  may  as  well,  perhaps,  here  say 
that  neither  this  nor  the  other  one  has  been  noticed  by  any  of  the 
editors  of  the  Morte,  or  any  writer  who  has  ever  referred  to  the 
book,  as  far  as  I  am  aware.  I  have  shown  you  conclusively,  I 
think,  that  Caxton  must  have  been  napping,  if  not  actually 
dreaming,  when  he  referred  to  the  ninth  of  Edward  the  Fourth 
as  "about  152  years  past."  He  is  not  one  whit  more  wide 
awake  in  his  chronology  further  on  when  he  declares  "it  is  1,114 
years  since  King  Arthur's  reign,  which  was  long  before  the  days 
of  Edward  the  Fourth."  The  innocence  of  the  second  half  of 
this  sentence  is  delightful.  We  know  well  enough  that  Arthur 
reigned  "  long  before  the  days  of  Edward  the  Fourth  ;"  but  -we 

*^  It  is  possible,  of  course,  that,  by  a  wrong  collocation  of  words,  Caxton's  **  1^»S^ 
years  past "  may  have  reference  to  the  date  of  the  originals  whence  Sir  Thomaa 
Malory  obtained  the  material  for  his  translation. 


A  FORGOTTEN  WELSH  WOETHY.  505 

certainly  do  not  know  that,  writing  in  the  days  when  Caxton  was 
sending  the  Morte  to  press,  anyone  could  have  t  ruthf  uUy  said  "  it  is 
1,114  years  since  King  Arthur's  reign."  Now,  I  am  not  going  to  bore 
you — although  I  confess  that  the  present  is  a  fine  opportunity 
and  the  temptation  has  been  strong  upon  me — with  any  very 
lengthened  investigation  of  the  differences  between  the  historical 
Arthur  and  the  mythical.  The  question,  however,  is  too  near  a 
corollary  of  the  one  immediately  in  hand  for  me  to  pass  it  over 
without  some  notice.  Let  me,  at  the  outset,  entreat  you  to 
accept  the  advice  of  the  late  excellent  Bishop  Thirlwall,  con- 
veyed in  one  of  his  Letters  to  a  Friend.  If  you  would  enjoy  his 
adventures — I  mean  Arthur's — ask  no  questions  as  to  the 
adventurer.  P^or,  in  the  words  of  the  good  Bishop,  "to  reconcile 
them  with  his  historical  personality  is  exceedingly  difficult ;  and 
if  giving  them  up  as  historical  facts  you  only  insist  on  his 
*  existence,'  what  is  left  but  a  mere  shadowy  abstraction, 
incapable  of  inspiring  any  human  being  with  a  genuine  interest? 
Why  should  not  your  patriotic  sympathies  be  satisfied  if  you 
bring  yourself  to  think  of  him  as  the  child  of  his  country,  which 
he  certainly  was,  rather  than  as  its  father,  which  is  so  very 
doubtful  ?"  For  my  own  part  I  prefer  thinking  of  Arthur  as  a 
child  of  his  country  and  the  father  of  his  people  both  ;  and  I 
certainly  like  to  think  of  him  as  the  real  rather  than  the 
allegorical,  metaphorical,  apocryphal,  impossible  personage  some 
people  have  endeavoured  to  make  him  out,  as  of  "  a  man,"  who, 
according  to  old  William  of  Malmesbury,  was  worthy  to  be 
celebrated,  "  not  by  idle  fictions,  but  by  authentic  history." 

But  for  the  romancing  old  Monk  of  Monmouth  I  do  not  think 
the  history  of  King  Arthur  would  have  been  discredited  to  half 
the  extent  that  it  is.  Gibbon  himself —no  very  easy  believer — 
while  disagreeing  with  Whitaker,  the  famous  writer  of  the 
History  of  Manchester^  as  to  the  reality  of  the  Round  Table, 
thinks  that  gentleman's  narrative  of  the  Arthurian  wars  was 
not  only  interesting,  but  even  probable.  "  A  stranger  to  the 
W^elsh  bards,  Myrdhin,  Llywarch,  and  Taliessin,  my  faith  in  the 
existence  and  exploits  of  Arthur,"  writes  the  historian  of  the 
Decline  and  Fall,  "  principally  rests  on  the  simple  and  circum- 
stantial testimony  of  Nennius."  And  this  simple  and  circum- 
stantial testimony  he  summarises  for  us  in  his  own  masterly 
manner.  Listen  to  the  organ  tones  just  a  moment,  if  it  was 
only  to  enjoy  the  contrast  between  them  and  my  own  harsh 
piping.  "Every  British  name,"  says  Gibbon,  "is  effaced  by 
the  illustrious  name  of  Arthur,  the  hereditary  prince  of  the 
Silures  in  South  Wales,  and  the  elective  king  or  general  of  the 
nation.  According  to  the  most  rational  account  he  defeated 
in  twelve  successive  battles  the  Angles  of  the  North  and  the 
Saxons  of  the  West ;  but  the  declining  age  of  the  hero  was 
embittered  by  popular  ingratitude  and  domestic  misfortunes. 


504  A  FORGOTTEN  WELSH  WORTHY. 

The  events  of  hL<  life  are  less  interesting  than  the  revolutions 
of  his  fEone.  During  a  period  of  live  hundred  3'ears  the  tradition 
of  his  exploits  was  j»reserved  and  rudely  embellished  by  the 
obscure  bards  of  Wales  and  Armorica,  who  were  odious  to  the 
Saxon,  and  unknown  to  the  rest  of  mankind.  The  i>ride  and 
curiosity  of  the  Noniian  conquerors  prompted  them  to  inquire 
into  the  ancient  historv  of  Britain :  they  listened  with  fond 
credulity  10  the  tale  of  Arthur,  and  eagerly  applauded  the  merit 
of  a  prince  who  had  triumphed  over  the  Saxons,  their  common 
enemies.  His  romance,  transcribed  into  the  Latin  of  Jeffrey 
of  Monmouth,  and  afterwards  translated  into  the  fashionable 
idiom  of  the  times,  was  enriched  with  the  various  though 
incoherent  ornaments  which  were  familiar  to  the  experience, 
the  learning,  or  the  fancy  of  the  twelfth  century.  The  progress 
of  a  Phrygian  colony  from  the  Tiber  to  the  Thames  was  easily 
ingrafted  on  the  fable  of  the  -Eneid,  and  the  royal  ancestors 
of  Arthur  derived  their  origin  from  Troy,  and  claimed  their 
alliance  with  the  Ciesars.  His  trophies  were  decorated  with 
captive  provinces  and  inijierial  titles,  and  his  Danish  victories 
avenged  the  recent  injmies  of  his  country.  The  gallantry  and 
superstition  of  the  British  hero,  his  feasts  and  tournaments,  and 
the  memorable  institution  of  his  Knights  of  the  Round  Table ^ 
were  faithfully  copied  from  the  reigning  manners  of  chivalry ; 
and  the  fabulous  exploits  of  Uthers  son  appear  less  incredible 
than  the  adventures  which  were  achieved  by  the  enterprising 
valour  of  the  Normans.  Pilgrimage  and  the  holy  wars  intro- 
duced into  Europe  the  specious  miracles  of  Arabian  magic. 
Fairies  and  giants,  flying  dragons  and  enchanted  palaces,  were 
blended  with  the  more  simple  fictions  of  the  West ;  and  the 
fate  of  Britain  depended  on  the  art  or  the  predictions  of  Merlin. 
Every  nation  embraced  and  adorned  the  jK)pular  romance  of 
Arthm*  and  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table  ;  their  names 
were  celebrated  in  Greece  and  Italy,  and  the  voluminous  tales 
of  Sir  Lancelot  and  Sir  Tristram  were  devoutly  studied  by  the 
princes  and  nobles,  who  disregarded  the  genuine  heroes  and 
historians  of  antiquity.  At  length  the  light  of  science  and 
reason  was  rekindled,  the  talisman  was  broken,  the  visionary 
fabric  melted  into  air ;  and,  by  a  natural  though  imjust  reverse 
of  the  public  opinion,  the  severity  of  the  present  age  is 
inclined  to  question  the  existence  of  Arthiu*." 

I  hope  the  reader  has  relished  the  interlude — a  truly  mag- 
nificent one,  in  my  opinion.  Starting  with  the  assumption 
that  Arthur  had  an  historical  existence.  Gibbon,  with  all  his 
marvellous  concentration  of  thought,  and  that  method  of 
condensed  expression  of  which  he  was  so  perfect  a  master, 
shows  not  only  how  but  why  the  simple  original  truth  was,  age 
after  age,"  improved  "  uix)n,  until  the  British  Arthur  became 
the  pattern  hero,  the  \ei^  \)\\ik  ^ud  c]^TLte««ence  of  chivalry. 


A  FORGOTTEN  \\"ELSH  WORTHY.  505 

whose  exploits  combined  all  of  vigorous  that  the  Western 
imagination  could  conceive,  and  all  of  richness  and  glamour 
that  could  have  entered  the  sensuous  mind  of  the  Orient ;  the 
outcome  being  a  single  character,  in  which  strength  has  been 
blended  with  beauty,  with  a  perfection  unmatched  by  anything 
we  know  of  in  Roland  fair,  or  Oliver,  or  Paladin,  or  Peer. 
Truly,  were  the  question  asked  me — how  far  does  my  faith 
extend  to  the  personality  of  the  British  Arthur,  I  would  fain 
confess  myself  to  be  with  the  believing  sceptic  Gibbon  against 
all  the  sceptic  believers  in  the  world.  Incrustations  of  fable 
have  grown  upon  him  thick  and  fast,  but  I  have  eyes  and  faith 
enough  to  see  beneath  them  all  the  real  man  and  hero,  than 
whom  nor  Odin,  nor  Thor,  nor  Beowulf,  nor  Olaf  was  nobler  or 
more  brave,  nor  Chrishna  himself  more  spotless  and  pure. 

Of  this  historical  Arthur,  then,  no  earlier  trace  can  be  found 
than  (let  us  say)  493,  when,  following  Nennius  very  probably, 
Bede,  the  writer  of  a  more  or  less  reliable  Ecclesiastical 
Hist(yi*y^  brings  him  to  the  Battle  of  Badon  Hill,  near  Bath, 
where,  according  to  William  of  Malmesbury,*  "he  engaged  nine 
hundred  of  the  enemy  single-handed,  and  dispersed  them  with 
incredible  slaughter." 

This  is  probably  quite  as  much  of  Arthurian  history  as  you 
want  from  me.  Let  us  now  turn  once  more  to  Sir  Thomas 
Malory.  In  his  introduction  to  the  most  recent  edition  of  the 
Morte  UA  rihur^  the  editor.  Sir  Edward  Strachey ,  says  that  Malory 
was  an  old  Yorkshire  name  in  Leland's  time,  and  is  mentioned 
in  the  next  century  in  Burton's  Descriptian  of  Leicestershire, 
but  we  have  nothing  but  the  name  to  connect  Sir  Thomas  Malory 
with  these  families.  Burton's  Description  (1622  fol.^  contains 
a  passage  which  Sir  Edward  quotes  from  the  British  Lifrrarian  of 
the  antiquary  Oldys,  referring  simply  to  arms  and  pedigrees  of 
the  Malorys  found  in  Kirby-5lalory  and  Swinford,  in  Leicester- 
shire. Leland,  indeed,  according  to  the  Biographia  Britannicay 
says  the  author  was  a  Welshman.  From  his  own  words  we  learn 
that  he  was  a  knight,  and  from  his  adding  that  he  was  a  servant 
of  Jesu  both  day  and  night,  as  well  as  from  the  general 
tone  of  the  book,  it  has  been  inferred  that  he  was  a  priest. 
There  is  nothing  unusual  in  this  knightly  appellation  of  the  old 
"  servant  of  Jesu."  "  Sir,"  says  a  note  to  the  Cowden-Clarkes* 
Shakspeare  ("  Merry  Wives,"  Act  I.,  Scene  I.),  "  was  formerly 
given  as  a  title  to  priests  generally  and  curates  especially.  Those 
who  took  the  academic  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  were  styled 
Dominus  (translated  into  English  by  the  word  '  Sir ') ;  and 
this   degree   having  been   taken   by  most  men  in  orders,  it 

*  And   surely  Willi&m   of  Malmesbniy  is  an  authority.     Archbishop  Usher 
called  him    "the  chief  of  historians."     Bv  Leland  he  is  designated  as   *'ao 
«legant,  learned,  and  faithful  historian,"  while  Sir  Heniy  Saville  thought  him 
**  the  only  man  of  his  time  who  discharged  his  trust  aa  an  histomxi."    '!^«t%  «3c^ 
lestimonials  for  you ! 


506  A  FORGOTTEN  WELSH  WOETHY. 

became  usual  to  give  them  the  title."  Someone  to  wh< 
have  unfortunately  lost  my  reference  Bays  that  if  Sir  Th 
was  a  Welshman  he  was  probably  a  Welsh  priest,  as  appeal 
only  by  the  legendary  vein  which  runs  through  all  the  si 
he  liaa  thus  extracted  and  woven  together,  but  by  his  concli 
of  the  work  itself.  This  conclusion  I  have  already  quot« 
you,  and  it  will  do  in  this  place  if  I  refer  you  to  only  the 
pro  anima  portions  of  it  for  proof  of  the  supposition  tha 
author  was  a  priest. 

Wright,  in  his  edition  of  the  work  (1858),  ap 
to  think  the  statement  that  >5ir  Thomas  was  a  W 
man  never  had  any  better  evidence  to  support  it  than 
conjectures  of  the  bibliographers,  founded  on  the  charact 
his  book.  Gaston's  own  statement  that  Sir  Thomas  derive 
materials  from  certain  old  romances  "  in  WeUh  many,  and 
in  I-Vench  and  some  in  English,"  is  to  me  a  stronger  point 
any  the  scholiasts  have  noticed  that  be  was  a  Welsh 
whether  Welsh  priest  or  not.  Williams,  in  his  Emi 
Welshmen,  has  the  hald  entry :  "  Maelor  (Thomas)  .Sir,  a  w 
who  flourished  between  1440  and  1480,  He  was  the  trans 
o(  Aforte  D'Atikur  into  KagXifhy -which  he  finished  in  the 
year  of  Edward  1\.,  as  lie  hath  signified  in  a  note  at 
conclusion  of  the  curious  work" — facts  purporting  to 
been  taken  from  the  Cmnhrian  Biography,  in  which 
edition  of  1803,  at  any  rate)  I  could  find  no  frace  of  tl 
They  are  a  miserable  extract  from  the  article  "  Caxton 
the  Biographica  Britaniiica,  I  should  imagine.  And  th 
absolutely  every  scraji  of  the  personal  history  of  the  auth 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  books  in  our  or  any  language 
I  have  been  able  to  lind  !  We  know  positively  less  of  the 
than  of  Casdmon,  an  obscure  swineherd  who  lived  eight  cent 
earlier;  less  of  him  than  of  Aneurin,  a  bard  who  flourished 
period  quite  as  remote,  and  who  wrote  in  a  tongue  n-hicl 
makers  of  history  ever  understood. 

Just  a  word  in  a  general  way  as  to  the  Morte  V Arthur  i 
and  I  shall  have  done.  "With  regard  to  >IaiUorie's  book," 
Warton,  "  much,  if  not  most  of  it,  I  believe,  is  taken  iron 
great  French  romance  of  Lancelot,  translated  froni  liatin 
French  at  the  command  of  one  of  our  Henrys,  a  metrical  Ebj 
version  of  which  is  now  in  Benet's  Library  at  Cambri< 
Warton  adds  that  he  has  left  it  doubtful  whether  it  was  H 
IIL  who  ordered  this  romance  to  be  translated  into  L 
although  proofs  are  not  wanting  that  this  monarch  paid  ] 
attention  to  such  compositions.  Wherever  the  romance 
got  from,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  story  of  Arthur 
his  knights  was  well  known  long  before  the  date  assigne 
Caxton  to  Malory's  performance.  About  the  year  1160,  Ga 
Afapes,  Archdeacon  of  Oxford,  translated  &om  I^tin  into  ¥i 


A  FORGOTTEN  WELSH  WORTHY.  507 

the  popular  romance  of  the  ^ Saint  Graal  at  the  instance  of 
Henry  II.,  to  whom  the  translator  was  chaplain.  Elias  Cairels, 
a  troubadour  of  Perigord,  about  the  year  1240,  wishes  for  "  the 
wisdom  of  Solomon,  the  courtesy  of  Roland,  the  puissance  of 
Alexander,  the  strength  of  Samson,  the  friendly  attachment  of 
sir  Tristram,  the  chevelerie  of  sir  Gawaine,  and  the  learning  of 
Merlin"— a  very  modest  conjunction  of  good  qualities  indeed. 
And  there  are  numerous  other  grounds  for  believing  in  the  pre- 
existence  of  the  romance  in  some  form  or  other.  Caxton 
himself  had  "  seen  and  read  beyond  the  seas  "  many  "  noble 
volumes  "  which  had  been  made  of  King  Arthur,  "  which  be  not 
had  in  our  maternal  tongue.  But  in  Welsh  be  many,"  he  adds, 
"and  also  in  French  and  some  in  English,  but  nowhere  nigh  all." 

Old  Roger  Ascham  gave  the  book  a  dreadfully  bad  character ; 
his  arguments  being,  as  Warton  truly  observes,  more  like  those 
of  a  rigid  Puritan  than  of  a  man  of  his  enlightened  mind  and 
broad  understanding.  His  remarks  are  curious  and  well  worth 
quoting.  Speaking  of  the  "  precepts  of  fonde  bookes  brought 
out  of  Italic  to  marre  mens  manners  in  England  "  and  "  solde 
in  every  shop  in  I^ondon,"  he  says  that  each  one  of  them  does 
more  "  harme  in  inticing  men  to  ill  living  "  than  "  ten  sermons 
at  Panic's  Cross  do  good  for  moving  men  to  true  doctrine." 
And  shortly  afterwards  he  goes  on  to  say  that  "  in  our  fore- 
fathers time,  when  papistrie  as  a  standing  poole  covered  and 
overflowed  all  England,  few  bookes  were  red  .in  our  toong  sauyng 
certayne  Bookes  of  Chiualrie,  as  they  sayd  for  pastime  and 
pleasure,  which,  as  some  say,  were  made  in  monasteries 
by  idle  monks  or  wanton  chanons :  as  one  for  example 
Mo7*e  Arthur,  the  whole  pleasure  of  which  booke  standeth 
in  two  specyall  poyntes,  in  open  mans  slaghter  and  bold 
bawdrie  :  in  which  booke  those  be  counted  the  noblest  knights 
that  doe  kill  most  men  without  any  quarrell,  and  commit  fowlest 
aduoulteries  by  sutlest  shifts.  This  is  good  stuffefor  wise  men  to 
laughe  at,  or  honest  men  to  take  pleasure  at.  Yet  I  knowe 
when  Gods  Bible  was  banished  the  Court  and  Morte  Arthur 
receaued  into  the  princes  chamber.  WTiat  toyes  the  dayly 
reading  of  such  a  booke  may  worke  in  the  will  of  a  yong 
ientleman,  or  a  yong  maide,  that  liueth  wethely  and  idlely,. 
wise  men  can  iudge  and  honest  men  doe  pitie.  And  yet  ten 
Morte  Arthures  doe  not  the  tenth  part-  so  much  harme  as  one 
of  these  bookes  made  in  Italic  and  translated  in  England ;"  and 
so  on  and  so  on,  more  in  the  style  of  Prynne's  Histriomastix 
than  Ascham's  Schoolmastei'. 

Personally  I  by  no  means  agree  with  this  estimate^ 
Some  things  there  are  in  the  book  which  a  modem 
taste  may  wish  left  out ;  but  then  the  same  is  the 
case  with  every  other  old  book  worth  the  reading.  Malory 
certainly  never  high-seasoned  liis  work,  as  too  many  writers- 


508 


A  FORGOTTEX  WELSH  WORTHY. 


before  and  since  have  done,  in  order  to  tickle  a  ^ 
palate.  On  t'.e  contrary,  he  has  in  many  places  left  clea 
sweet  that  which  before  was  repulsive  and  impure.  Ov* 
whole  he  has  thrown  the  glamoarofa  poetic  mind,  giring, 
Edward  Strachey  truly  says,  life  and  beauty  to  the  coarse 
of  earth,  and  transmuting  by  his  art  the  legends  be  yet 
fully  preser^'es.  He  was  the  very  prince  of  romancers,  an 
left  in  English  a  work  with  which  no  work  of  the  like  nati 
that  or  any  other  tongue  whatever  can  at  all  comiiare. 

It  may  be  cruel  ut  this  point  to  suggest  it,  but  I  have 
utterly  unable  to  suppress  my  suspicion  that  Caston  had  a 
honourable  share  in  the  production  of  the  book  than  the 
printing  of  it.  He  admits,  at  least,  a  kind  of  editing  o 
work,  for  he  tells  us  in  the  colophon  that  it  was  "  by  me  > 
<Ud  in  to  XXI.  b'jokfs  chap'jtred  and  emprynted  andfyny 
in  thabbey  v.-ealmfe(i-e  the  last  day  of  Inyl  the  yere  of  mtr 
MCCCCLXXXrr  Iknow  well  enough  that  there  are  we 
authorities  against  me.  The  elder  D'Israeli  very  ha 
pronounces  the  father  of  English  printing  to  have  been  a  m 
purely  commercial  instincts,  with  a  soul  no  higher  than  the  p 
of  the  "  mechanic  art "  in  which  he  was  engaged,  and  indulg 
very  foolish  fustian  at  the  end  of  one  of  his  essays  with  a 
of  clinching  his  c-ontention.  But  I  am  convinced  that  D'L 
was  as  utterly  wrong  in  his  judgment  as  it  is  possible  a  spei 
tive  writer  can  be.  Ca.xton  also  is  against  me,and  he  has  t 
very  great  pains  to  prove  the  fact.  Such  very  great  pains,  in( 
that  I  think  he  overshot  his  mark.  In  his  Preface  to  the  ■ 
be  lias  too  much  the  air  of  a  "simple  person"  who  has  a 
article  to  sell  belonging  to  somebody  else  ever  so  much  i 
worshipful  than  himself.  With  an  unsophisticated  cla; 
customers  such  asCaxton's  this  might  have  been  but  atrade  ar! 
always  sure  to  "  draw."  Whether  this  be  so  or  not  the  coi 
■of  (iixton's  preface,  particularly  the  iiaiceti  of  it,  sai 
strongly  of  the  attempt  of  a  romancer  to  throw  his  reader 
the  real  scent,  and  of  a  straining  after  verisimilitude.  W'alj 
preface  to  his  famous  Cadle  of  Otranto  at  once  sugges 
parallel.  May  not  Malory  have  been  another  Thomas  Ko 
and  Caxtou  a  kind  of  prose  Chatterton,  only  a  much  i 
fortunate  one  ?  The  point  is  one  of  such  intense  interest  t] 
should  like  to  see  it  taken  up  by  some  one  whose  time 
resources  are  not  so  limited  as  my  own.  J.  ] 


THE  LAY  OF  KING  WENCESLAS. 


A  LEGEND  OF  BOHEMIA. 

(a.d.  1378.) 


King  Wenceslas  sat  on  Bohemia's  throne — 
Were  I  to  describe  his  appearance  alone, 

It  would  take  up  too  long 

So  I  cannot  do  wrong 
In  just  simply  stating,  I  freely  must  own  his 
Features  weren't  those  of  a  classic  Adonis. 

From  his  doublet  and  hose 

To  the  tip  of  his  nose 
He  varied  from  bottle  green  up  to  a  rose. 

His  nobles  would  hint 

That  the  latter  bright  tint 
Was  due  to  his  draining  so  often  the  flagon, 
Comparing  him  e'en  to  Saint  George  and  the  Dragon 

(They  meant,  I've  no  doubt, 

With  the  Saint  just  left  out). 
For  his  figure  ungainly  was  nothing  to  brag-ow. 

As  he  sat  on  his  throne,  he  was  ill  at  his  ease. 
And  plotted  and  schemed  as  to  how  he  could  seize 
On  the  lands  of  his  nobles,  that  lay  far  and  wide. 
Then  he  summoned  his  gentle  young  queen  to  his  side. 

Now  the  lady  Sophia  was  gentle  and  fair, 

With  a  slim  taper  waist  and  long  flaxen  hair, 

Their  union  was  one,  it  need  scarcely  be  stated. 

Had  been  simply  arranged — they  were  wed  but  not  mated  : 

For  in  those  days  the  lords 

Disposed  of  their  wards 
Very  much  as  the  booty  they  won  by  their  swords. 

...... 

Poor  Sophia  was  not  much  to  blame  if  she  sighed 
To  have  been  of  a  handsome  young  noble  the  bride, 

But  she  cast  down  her  eyes 

And  stifled  her  sighs 
When  the  nobles  flocked  round  her,  as  you  may  surmise. 


010  THE  LAY  OF  KING  WENCESLAS. 

King  Wenceslas  bade  her  invite  to  hia  Court 
Hie  nobles  for  banquet  and  tourney  and  sport. 

Then  Rummoned  with  glee 

Hia  functionar«, 
Whose  lot  was  to  "  execute  "  Royal  decrees. 
The  Royal  jjavilionB  then  quickly  were  spread — 
His,  black — and  two  others,  one  white  and  one  red : 

In  the  black  tent  alone 

He  set  up  his  throne, 
And  hia  nobles  in  turn  to  hia  presence  were  sboivD. 

Then  he  called  on  each  Knight 

To  give  up  his  right 
To  his  landa,  and  bestow  them  as  Royal  domains, 

And  those  who  agreed 

Were  instantly  freed, 
But  the  rest  were  led  off,  protesting  in  vain, 

To  the  tent  that  wna  red. 

Where  it  need  not  be  said 
Poor  Sophia  saw  each  one  deprived  of  his  head. 

The  gentle  Sophia  was  dead  with  affright, 
And  tainted  and  swooned  (as,  dear  reiider,  she  might) 
To  stand  there  and  see  ('twas  too  much  of  a  sIiock) 
Their  heads  disappear  o'er  the  edge  of  the  block. 

They  bore  her  away 

On  that  ill  fated  "day, 
And  sent  for  her  nurse  and  the  doctor  straightway  j 

The  ser\aDta  obeyed, 

And  one  of  them  made 
For  the  Reverend  Johanko  von  NejKimuk's  aid- 
When  Wenceslas  heard,  in  his  fury  he  seized 
The  good  man,  and  vainly,  first  coaxed  and  then  squeezed 

To  tell  him  one  word 

Of  what  had  occurred. 
But  Johanko  von  Nepomuk  only  averred, 
He  had  heard  her  confession — but  mum  was  the  word. 

Then  Wencealas  swore 

And  his  grisly  beard  tore. 
With  his  hands  tied  behind  him  poor  von  Nepomuk 
In  Moldaus  blue  waters  he  hastened  to  duck — 
His  chef-de-cuisine  with  incompetence  twitted. 
And  then  had  him  straightway  first  skewered  and  then  sj 


A  thunderstorm  broke  o'er  the  Castle  that  hour. 

And  the  lightning  played  vivid  o'er  rampart  and  tower ; 

Twas  said  that  a  figure,  in  sable  array. 


THE  LAY  OF  KING  WENCESLAS.  511 

• 

With  horns  and  a  hoof,  was  seen  on  that  day 
To  enter  the   Castle  (be  that  as  it  may) 

King  Wenceslas  died, 

And  there  on  his  side 
Were  seen  most  distinctly  the  marks  of  a  fork, 
While  his  features  were  blackened,  as  though  with  burnt  cork. 
•  ••••• 

The  lady  Sophia  grew  worse  and  then  died, 
And  was  buried  in  state  by  King  Wenceslas'  side ; 
But  her  soul  up  to  heaven  was  piously  wafted. 
While  his  to  Beekebub  straightway  was  drafted. 

The  lady  Sophia,  and  her  confessor  too. 

Were  both  canonized,  without  further  ado  ; 

SI^  became  Saint  Sophia,  the  martyr  and  queen — he 

Has  since  been  invok'd  as  Saint  Nepomucend, 


MORAL. 

Now  therefore  take  warning  by  Wenceslas'  end, 
And  shun  the  bad  habit  of  cuttiTig  your  friends — 
Don't  spit  your  head  cook  ('twould  be  murder  and  arson) 
Nor — merely  to  spite  your  wife — drown  the  poor  parson  ! 

Note. — King  Wenceslas  (or  Wenzel)  was  King  of  Bohemia,  ad.  1378.  (Hia 
namesake,  Saint  Wenceslas,  was  only  a  duke.)  All  the  facts  narrated  here  are 
matters  of  authentic  history,  except  the  exact  mode  of  his  death,  upon  which 
latter  point  histoiy  is  silent,  but  the  additional  facts  have  been  compiled  from 
MSS.  still  preserved  by  the  lineal  descendants  of  the  House  of  Luxemburg. 

Caerdydd.  Ap  lOLO. 


H  iU  AN  E'Z'u  WITH  3IT  DICTIOXiRY. 


yij  z^-iA.  i:  r-?>r!i:r-::,  rli  zzi^zti  >:  Fn:*n^on,  of  whoi 
re-tiTT^  ;•:  :i-  LiS  Z^-z?  -.  nir  ^e  :rea:c*i  ;•>  a  few  wonls 
c^ij.  C'-t  '."  re:  c-r  1-  i*i.f  -'•—  .-rt'^^  riii  lifc-V  happy  jmIot- 
fs-!*  ..  .'  fc-  ..'  £>:*•  ->T-i  :>  :^Tr  one  cnifomi  ansi 
il=i' >f :  ill  :it  :  i-rn-T-i  :  lis  iol  •>Izii:e>  in  ihe  for  distant 
^i--:'.ir:  *-— '7  -'.  -*-.'L  '.  *— r  iit^.^'j^Tir^  ot  L^iiiiie'?  Orar 
in-  o. -^■:rz^^^  :  A  Zii>>xc-r  *:!  Hj-n-rr  or  Virgil,  or  the  so] 
of  >  n.-  :  r -rlrn  in  ir.:lzir:i>^  -.■r  -l^bra,  azid  that  answe 
— :Lrrr    iTr    Lunirel?  :1^:  wJl  r^nt-mber  iu — *•  Go    U 

I  iia^i  n;  o:ncirX:>n  :.:  thit  lini-?  Ti:.a:  a  irorld  of  amuse 
miij  '^•r  ii::  :u:  .:  a  ii^^inirr.  I  niiijht  have  known,  I  ai 
tc»>  5^irr  I  ifi  knw,  thit  tlerein  niaj  be  found  all  th< 
ma-r-rlil  :•:  all  vur  be^:  ':«>:k>,  whether  of  foetrr,  philosoph 
the-x*-^.".  « *f  cvur?^,  it  i:rei>  thr  master  hand  of  the  poet 
phil-.T^:-:  hvr,  or  ihe  divint-  to  work  out  this  material  into  t 
miiijestic  f>rms  ih:*:  will  inftruo:  and  edify  as  wellascham 
pira^e.  I  hive,  howfver,  ^in^N^  then  sjieni  many  a  happT 
h'>ur  tumiajjovrr  its  leaves  and  p>rin^  over  its  erer  new 
ever  varie»i  wonders.  ^ly  readi-r?  will  excuse  mv  remai 
that  there  are  dioiionarir<  an  1  dictionaries,  and  that,  ho^ 
valuable  Jc'hns  >n  and  Walker  and  Webster  mav  have 
once,  the  help  they  give  is  only  a  partial  one,  indeed,  in 
unravelliDg  of  the  mysttrrious  history  and  natiuv  of  the  ¥ 
of  our  laui^nage. 

DictioDaries  have  to  do  mostly  with  words.  But  what 
wonJs  ?  Tliey  are  the  materials,  or,  at  an v  rate,  the  < 
vehicle  of  our  thoughts.  An  American  writer  has  described  t 
as  **  fr^ssil  jx)etry,".and,  taking  up  the  suggestion.  Trench 
his  Stud*/  of  Words^  says,  '-Many  a  single  word  is  a  con 
trated  poem,  having  stores  of  poetical  thought  and  imagerv 
up  in  it."  But  it  needs  the  poet's  eye  to  see  and  fully  appre< 
this  iKjetry.  Now,  first  of  all,  words  as  we  find  them  in 
dictionary  are  made  of  letters,  and  letters  represent  sotmds, 
'  \i  what  are  sounds?     How  strikingly  does  old  Homer  antiei 

' '  the  discoveries  of  modem  science,  else  what  does  he  mean  ? 


t  • 


HALF  AX  HOUR  WITH  MV  DICTIOXARY.       5Ki 

he  says  "Words  are  winged"  ?  How  they  do  seem  to  fly,  so 
rapidly  and  lightly  along.  Emerson  strikes  deeper  still  when  he 
says,  "  Words  are  signs  of  natural  facts.  The  use  of  natural 
history  is  to  give  us  supernatural  history.  Every  word  used  to 
express  a  moral  or  intellectual  fact,  if  traced  to  its  root,  is  found 
to  have  been  borrowed  from  some  material  appearance.  Right 
originally  means  straight ;  wrong  means  twisted ;  spirit 
primarily  means  wind ;  transgression  the  crossing  of  a  line  ; 
supercilious  the  raising  of  the  eyebrow ;  we  say  the  heart  to 
express  emotion,  the  head  to  denote  thought ;  and  thought  and 
emotion  are  in  their  turn  words  borrowed  from  sensible  things 
and  now  appropriated  to  spiritual  nature."  Now,  a  good 
dictionary  ought  to  open  up  all  these  treasures  to  us.  It  ought 
to  be,  like  the  hammer  in  the  hands  of  a  good  geologist,  a  help 
to  read  the  history  of  the  past.  For  words  are  really,  in  a 
sense,  fossils,  and  carry  in  tJiem  more  or  less,  could  we  but  read 
it,  their  own  history  ;  and  what  is  this  history  but  the  reflection 
of  man's  past  life  ? 

And  so,  with  this  clue,  let  us  follow  my  old  friend's  advice 
and  "  go  to  the  dictionary "  to  see  what  amusement  and 
edification  we  can  find  there.  Here  we  drop  at  random  upon 
this  word  "  amusement "  and  find  it  means  diversion,  enter- 
tainment, recreation.  It  is  derived  from  the  Latin  musa^  a 
muse ;  which  would  imply  an  occasional  forsaking  of  the  muses, 
a  laying  aside  of  our  books  wh-en  we  are  weary  with  study,  a 
relaxation  from  work.  And  this  word  "  relaxation,"  let  us  look  it 
up.  Its  root  is  Latin,  laxus^  loose  ;  and  the  idea  is  evidently 
taken  from  a  bow,  unbent  when  not  in  use,  in  order  that  its 
elasticity  may  be  preserved.  "Diversion,"  again,  is  derived 
from  the  Latin  verto^  versus^  to  tmn,  and  is  defined  as  "  that 
which  turns  or  draws  the  mind  from  care,  business,  or  study, 
and  thus  relaxes  and  amuses ;  pastime."  What  a  sermon  there 
is  in  this  last  word, "  pastime,"  that  which  amuses  and  serves  to 
make  time  pass  agreeably.  "  To  what  grand  moral  pur^^oses 
Bishop  Butler  turns  this  word,"  says  Trench ;  "  how  solemn 
the  testimony  which  he  compels  the  world,  out  of  its  own  use 
of  this  word,  to  render  against  itself — obliging  it  to  own  that  its 
amusements  and  pleasures  do  not  really  satisfy  the  mind  and 
fill  it  with  the  sense  of  an  abiding  and  satisfying  joy  ;  they  are 
only  *  pastime,'  &c." 

From  "  amusement "  to  "  edification  "  seems  an  easy  step 
enough.  To  edify  is  literally  "  to  build,"  to  make  a  building  ; 
in  a  moral  sense,  to  build  up  or  improve  in  knowledge  generally, 
and  particularly  in  moral  and  religious  knowledge.  "Instruct " 
is  a  word  of  similar  import,  meaning,  first  of  all,  "  to  pile  up,'* 
and  then  to  impart  knowledge  to  one  who  is  destitute  of  it,  to 
teach,  to  educate.  This  last  word,  from  the  Latin  e  and  duco^ 
means  "  to  lead  out,"  and  the  idea  at  its  root  refers  to  the 

H  H 


r,U        HALF  AX  HOI'S  WITH  MY  DICTIOXABY. 

ti^Telopiceiit  of  th«  pkjTial.  m^ntalr  utd  moral  fkculties  i 
than  the  imponing  of  bnovWflg^.  Ediicsti<»i  carries  in 
much  bigh^r  and  bivader  i<k«  of  the  daties  of  the  p 
t-r  the  jchoolmafter  than  instroctioD,  which  is  often 
another  vord  for  cramming. 

The  wopi  -  Srriptnre,"  whioh  originallT  only  meant  a  wr 
is  now  '•  appn:>pTuieIv.  and  bv  wav  of  distinction,''  confin 
the  Bible ;  and  Btbif,  vhich  at  one  time  only  meant  a 
nov,  "  by  way  of  eminence,"  stands  for  TTie  Book,  the 
Scrijitari^.  Traced  further,  the  Oreek  bihlo*,  which  giv 
bible,  is  found  to  come  frwm  &yWd#.  the  japTms  of  the 
the  inner  bark  of  which  was  made  into  jjap^r  for  books. 
word  '•  library**  come*  from  a  similar  soorce,  being  derived 
the  L^tin  liber  (cp.  WeUh  lly/ri.  which, before  it  came  to  i 
a  book,  meant  the  papyrus  of  which  the  book  was  made  ; 
the  "book"  ittclf,  though  referred  by  some  to  hugan,  i 
means  to  bend,  to  fold,  i^  in  Chambers'  excetlent  little  woi 
etymology  referred  to  bfech,  the  tree,  "the  inner  bark  or 
wood  of  which  was  used  to  write  upon  by  the  Teutonic  ta 
**  Volume,'*  which  natorally  falls  into  this  group,  opens  up  a 
chapter  in  history.  It  is  derived  from  vof-ro,  to  roll  (cp.  V 
erjj-T(A.)y  and  takes  us  back  to  a  time  when  books  were  mad 
the  form  of  a  roll  of  calico. 

Hurrnk  is  a  word  that  takes  us  back  to  the  times  o( 
Crusades,  being  the  rallying  cr>-.  hH-raJ,  to  Paradise.  Apil^ 
is  defined  to  be  a  wanderer,  one  who  travels  to  a  distance  ! 
his  own  country'  to  visit  a  holy  place ;  in  Scripture,  one 
has  only  a  temporary  residence  on  earth.  Literally  it  m 
one  who  travels  through  lands  (per  through,  ager  lane 
foreigner."  A  palmer  is  a  pilgrim  carrying  a  palm  bn 
(N.  T.,  John  sii.,  13),  as  a  sign  that  he  had  risited  the  J 
Ijand.  To  roam  is  to  go  on  a  pilgrimage  to  St.  Peter *t 
Rome.  Saunter,  to  wander  or  stroll  about  idly,  comes  from 
French  aainte  terre,  the  Holy  Land.  To  confer  (cp.  CanterA 
Gallop)  is  to  adopt  the  ambling  jwce  of  the  pilgrims  ridin 
the  tomb  of  Thomas  a  Becket  at  Canterbury.  Let  us  lool 
one  group  more,  a  group  of  home  words. 

In  man  we  have  the  thinker,  in  woman  not,  as  s 
think,  the  woe  of  man,  but  the  tfi/-man,  who  i 
to  wMLve  for  the  man.  In  fa-ther  we  find  the  fe 
and  supporter.  From  Grimm's  laws  (Chambers  ut  »u\ 
we  learn  that  English  fa  is  the  Latin  pa,  and  are  i 
brought  to  pa-ter,  pa-sco,  pastor,  which  will  compare   ■ 

*  St.  Dkvid'g,  in  PembrDkeBhire,  vu  once  t,  great  rcaoit  of  pitgrima,  uxl 
VH  B  u]^ng  that  "  It  wm  esteemed  h  meritorioiu  to  visit  St.  David'*  twice 
Tiiit  Rome  once,"  an  which  loineone  remarked,  ''It  U  ■■  meritoriotu  to  via 
one  M  the  other."     The  Latin  venion  readi  thua : 

"  Roma  ttmd  fuaalum,  hU  dot  Mauria  Imbtm. 
Mercrdem  nnUtwi  rpldit  uler^ue  Iocum." 


HALF  AN  HOUR  WITH  MY  DICTIONARY.      515 

father,  feed,  feeder,  and  fat.  In  illustration  of  this  interchange 
of/  and  py  compare  fish  with  Latin  piscisy  feather  and  fin  with 
penna  (for  petna^  cp,  Greek  petomaiy  to  fly),  foot  "with  pes 
(ped^is),  foal  and  filly  with  pullus  (Greek  polos)^  and  fiill  with 
plenu8.  In  spinster  we  have  the  woman  whose  occupation  was 
to  do  the  spinning.  The  daughter  was  the  milkmaid  of  the 
family,  root  Sanscrit  duhj  or  dughj  to  milk.  We  have  already 
by  implication  said  the  wife  is  the  weaver,  we  may  now  add  that 
the  husband  is  the  hotLse^and^  as  old  Tusser  quaintly  says  : 

"  The  name  of  the  huibandj  what  is  it  to  Hay  ? 
Of  wife  and  of  hxntte  the  hand  and  the  stay.'* 

Our  half-hour  is  up.  In  conclusion  we  would  express  the  hope 
that  the  perusal  of  these  lines  may  lead  some  of  the  younger 
readers  of  the  Red  Dragon  to  a  new  source  of  pleasure  and 
improvement.  If  it  does  so  we  shall  be  thankful  that  our  labour 
has  not  been  in  vain. 

Aberdare.  T.   C.  U. 


H  a  2 


AVELSH   ORIGINS   OF   LATIN   PLACE-XAilES, 


A  CKITICLSM. 


The  articles  on  "  Welsh  Origins  of  Latin  Place-Names,"  wliich 
have  lately  appeared  in  the  Red  Dragon^  are  able  and 
interesting,  and  show  that  the  author  is  no  me4in  authority  upon 
philological  matter.  \j\yoTi  the  whole  I  agree  with  what  he  has 
said  on  the  subject  in  Articles  I.  and  II.,  but  I  beg  to  difler 
with  him  on  almost  every  point  in  Article  III.  In  the  first 
place  the  author  claims  for  tlie  Welsh,  or  rather  for  the  British, 
the  origin  of  the  word  fossa.  The  Welsh  word  ffoa  does  not 
mean,  as  our  author  says,  "  a  bog,  a  quag,  a  morass."  In  some 
parts  of  Wales  a  bog  or  a  morass  may  be  called  ffos^  but  this  is 
provincialism.  The  meaning  of  ffos  is  a  ditch  or  a  trench,  with 
or  without  water,  and  it  almost  always  means  an  artificial  ditch 
dug  out  with  human  hands.  The  author  has  mentioned  the 
place-names  Blaen-y-ffos  and  Ffos-y-Ge/i^vyn^  into  the  forma- 
tion of  which  the  word  ffos  enters ;  but  these  names  do  not  in 
the  least  assist  him  in  proving  that  the  word  ffos  means  a  "  bog,, 
a  quag,  or  a  morass,"  as  it  means  nothing  of  the  kind  in  either. 
Blaeii-y-ffos  means  the  end  of  the  ditch — not  of  necessity  a 
ditch  around  a  fortress,  but  any  kind  of  trench  dug  to  conduct 
water,  or  made  for  a  fence  or  defence.  We  always  call  a  ditch 
alongside  a  bank-fence  Ffos-y-cUnvcLtL  Ffos^y-Gerwyn,  which 
undoubtedly  is  the  corrupted  form  of  Ffos-y-Gae^nveHj  means 
the  ditch  of  the  White  Camp.  Here  it  means  the  moat 
surrounding  a  fortress.  We  have,  again,  the  place-name 
Ffos-yr-hyddody  which  means  the  ditch  of  the  deer.  Here  it 
means  the  trench  that  served  as  afence  to  enclose  deer ;  and  this- 
was  often  the  case  when  the  deer  were  carefully  preserved  in 
this  country  for  the  chase.  The  Welsh  word  for  a  bog  is  cors^ 
Our  author  says  that  fos  "  has  a  number  of  derivatives  in  both 
the  Celtic  and  Latin  languages.''  What  derivatives  has  it  in  the 
Celtic  language  ?  Where  is  the  verb  that  belongs  to  it  in  the 
Welsh  language  ?  There  is  no  such  word  asffdisu  or  ffisio  in 
Welsh,  while  we  have  the  verb  belonging  to  ffoaaa  in  Latin — 
falioj  fodiy  fossurriy  which  means  to  dig,  and  undoubtedly  the 
urords  fossa  and  ff6%  come  from  fassum^  the  supine  of  the  verb 


WELSH  ORIGINS  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES.     517 

fodlo.  Besides  we  have  the  word  fossa  used  by  Latin  authors 
wlio  wrote  many  years  before  Julius  Caesar  set  foot  upou 
British  soil.  Lucretius,  the  Roman  poet  and  philosopher,  who 
was  buried  ten  years  at  least  before  the  Romans  visited  Britain, 
writes  thus :  Salso  suffodit  gurgite  fossa.  We  have  both  fossa 
and  valluvi  used  by  Sallust  in  the  same  sentence :  Circuvi- 
dare  nioenia  vallo  atque  fossa.  Now,  Sallust  could  not  have 
borrowed  either  word  from  the  Britons,  because  he  had  written 
them  both  many  years  before  the  Roman  invasion.  The  Britons 
did  no  more  give  the  Romans  the  words  fossa  and  vallum  than 
they  gave  them  the  words  castra  and  prwtoriuvi.  In  fact, 
these  words  have  always  gone  together  in  the  history  of  Roman 
encampments. 

When  the  Roman  army  was  in  the  field  it  never  halted,  even 
for  a  single  night,  without  throwing  an  entrenchment  capable 
of  containing  the  whole  of  the  troops  and  their  luggage.  Their 
defences  consisted  of  a  ditch  (fossa)^  the  earth  being  thrown 
inwards,  so  as  to  form  a  rampart  (agger\  upon  the  summit  of 
which  was  a  palisade  (yalluiri)  of  wooden  stakes,  which  were 
carried  by  each  soldier  along  with  entrenching  tools.  If  the 
military  encampments  of  the  Romans  were  the  same  in 
Gaul  as  they  were  since  in  Britain,  and  we  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  they  were,  the  words /o««a  and  valluin  must  have 
been  written  hundreds  of  times  by  Roman  historians,  while 
Britain  was  yet  te'i^a  incognita  to  the  Roman  people.  It  is  by 
far  more  probable  that  we  have  borrowed  the  words  ffos  and 
gival  from  the  Roman  fossa  and  vaUura^  in  the  same  way  as 
we  have  burrowed  aradr  from  aratruin^  civUtivr  from  cutter, 
ffenestr  from  fenestra,  &c.  The  author  of  the  articles  to  which 
we  have  already  referred  claims  for  the  Celtic  tongue  the  origin 
of  the  word  Portus.  The  Romans  could  not  have  borrowed  the 
word  from  any  of  the  Celtic  dialects  in  Britain,  because  this 
word  and  its  cognates  were  used  by  Cicero  and  other  Latin 
writers  many  years  before  Julius  Caesar  began  to  marshal  his 
fleet  with  a  view  of  invading  British  shores.  I  can  now  call  to 
mind  two  instances  where  Cicero  uses  the  word  portus: 
^'  Plurissitnus  naviuni  portus,^^  and  "  in  porta  operam  dare." 
It  was  many  years  after  these  words  were  written  Caesar  said, 
"  Veni,  v^idiy  vici''  I'he  word  porta,  which,  beyond  any 
doubt,  is  from  the  same  root  as  portus,  was  used  by  the 
Romans,  from  the  very  foundation  of  Rome,  to  denote  a  city 
gate.  When  the  City  of  Rome  was  marked  out  with  the  plough 
the  arator  canied  the  plough  over  the  space  where  the  city 
gate  was  to  be.  ^ow,  porta  is  the  Imperative  mood  of  the  verb 
parto,  to  carry,  and  when  the  plough  came  to  a  certain  point 
someone  cried  out "  poHa,"  that  is  "  carry,"  hence  the  city  gate 
itself  came  to  be  csiWed  porta,  from  the  fact  that  the  plough  was 
carried  over  the  space  where  the  entrance  into  the  city  was  to 


518    WELSH  ORIGIN'S  OF  LATIN  PLACE-NAMES. 

be.  This  word  has  n  great  Dumber  of  deri\'ativea  in  Latin 
the  root  of  all  is  the  verb  porta.  If  our  author  had  j 
quotations  from  British  authors  who  had  written  prior  t( 
Komao  invasion,  he  would  have  gone  a  long  way  to  prove 
the  words  he  claims  for  the  British  in  Article  III.  were 
borrowed  from  the  Romans  at  least.  I  will  not  undertal 
say  whether  the  I^tin  word  partus  or  the  Welsh  word  j 
is  the  older,  but  I  maintain  that  the  Bomana  could  not 
found  the  root  of  partus  and  porta  in  Britain,  because  I 
words  were  in  use  among  the  Bomans,  as  we  have  sh 
many  years  before  they  had  any  dealings  with  the  Britons, 

I  am  loth  to  beheve  that  inurus  is  of  Celtic  origin,  from  i 
At  any  rate,  I  cannot  believe  that  the  Bomans  found  the 
in  Britain.  If  so,  how  did  Cicero  get  hold  of  it  ?  He  usi 
several  times.  The  old  form  of  murua  is  inoerus,  am 
undoubtedly  of  the  same  root  as  munio  and  ■moenia,  and 
author  will  hardly  claim  Celtic  roots  for  munio  and  mot 
The  fact  that  Talieain  and  other  British  authors  in  the  ( 
and  seventh  centuries  made  frequent  use  of  the  word  mur 
by  no  means  prove  that  it  is  British.  We  know  that 
Bomans  left  behind  them  in  Britain  marks  of  their  langi 
and  customs  \i\Ma  those  of  the  Britons  ;  and  the  lan^uag 
Armftrica  has  the  marks  of  the  Latin  tongue  deeply  grafte 
it  to  this  day.  Many  hundreds  of  Eoman  families,  who 
incorporated  themselves  with  the  Britons,  remained  in 
country,  and  their  posterity  are  to  this  day  mixed  with 
Saxons  and  Britons,  and  some  of  their  language  mnst  1 
clung  to  them  and  their  neighbours.  No  doubt  there 
hundreds  of  words  of  Celtic  origin  in  the  Roman  langu 
Peryron  says  that  he  found  about  1,200.  Some  of  these  mi 
have  been  borrowed  from  the  Celtic-Gauls  before  the  Eon 
knew  anything  about  the  Celtic-Britons,  but  what  words  tl 
are  we  have  no  proof.  Peiyron  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that 
Greeks  borrowed  many  words  from  the  Celtae  when  under 
name  of  Titans,  who  gaAc  the  Greeks  their  reUgion  and  le; 
ing.  The  fact  is,  we  have  nothing  but  an  array  of  shadows 
phantoms  about  the  Celtic-Britons  till  we  come  to  the  d 
which  begins  with  the  period  of  Caesar's  Cassivellaunus. 

Pandy,  Abergavenny.  John  Davie 


WELSH  POETRY  IN  ENGLISH  DBESS. 


THE  BARD  AND  THE  CUCKOO. 


Fkom  the  Welsh  of  Owain   Gruffydd. 


Owain  Gruffydd  was  born  in  1643,  and  died  in  1730.  He 
was  a  native  of  Llanystumdwy,  Carnarvonshire,  where  he 
appeared  to  have  officiated  as  parish  clerk.  Despite  his  humble 
origin  and  occupation,  he  was  not  only  a  poet  of  genuine  merit, 
but  is  said  to  have  acquired  much  curious  learning,  especially 
of  an  archaeological  kind,  according  to  the  lights  of  that  age» 
and  even  some  knowledge  of  Greek  and  I^atin.  The  reference 
in  the  following  poem  to  the  age  at  which  the  Virgin  Mary 
died  might  appear  to  proceed  from  a  Roman  Catholic  pen. 
But  this  supposition  would  not  only  be  inconsistent  with 
Owain's  office  of  parish  clerk,  but  the  reference  itself  is  quite  in 
keeping  with  the  character  of  the  religious  belief  then  prevail- 
ing in  many  parts  of  the  Principality.  In  (he  words  of  Leckie's 
excellent  s3mopsi8  of  the  religious  condition  of  Wales  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  before  the  great  outburst  of  Methodism, 
*'  the  Welsh  were  passionately  musical,  passionately  wedded  to 
tradition,  and,  like  the  Highlanders  of  Scotland,  they  preserved 
many  relics  of  Catholicism,  and  even  of  Paganism.  They  crossed 
themselves  in  sign  of  horror,  they  blessed  their  beds  in  the 
name  of  the  four  Evangelists,  and  when  a  dead  man  was  lowered 
into  the  grave  his  relations  knelt  upon  its  border  and  prayed 
that  he  might  soon  reach  heaven.  Many  poetic  legends  were 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation,  and  were  looked 
upon  as  almost  as   sacred  as  Scripture." 

We  take  credit  for  the  production  of  this  beautiful  poem  at 
an  opportune  season.  It  brings  Lord  Aberdare  before  us  as  in 
those  early  years  when  the  burdens  of  statesmanship  were 
unfelt,  and  his  form  was  familiar  in  our  highways  and 
assemblies,  in  rambles  on  the  mountains,  and  through  our  village 
lanes.  It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  the  love  of  nature  is  as 
strong  as  ever  in  his  Lordship,  and  that  the  free  range  of  the 
hills  is  always  welcomed  after  the  fogs  of  London  and  the 
conventionalities  of  society. 


520  WELSH  POETRY  IN  EXGUSH  DRESS. 

The  foUoviag  adaptatioQ  is  reprinted  from   the  Cymm 
of  1878,  but  with  corrections  from  his  LordBbip's  own  hani 
BARD, 
(iood-morrow  to  thee,  sweet  and  beauteous  bird. 
Once  more  thy  cheerful  song  at  mom  is  beard. 
I^te,  roaniing  o'er  the  primrose -spotted  plain, 
I  paused,  and  listened  for  thj  vish'd-for  strain. 
I  asked — nor  I  alone — "Why  sleeps  the  note 
Which  oft  as  springtide  smiled  was  wont  to  float  ?" 
The  earth  is  fresh  and  green,  the  iields  rejoice. 
And  yet  no  valley  echoes  to  thy  voice; 
The  genial  Sun  rolls  through  the  cloudless  skies. 
And  flowers  spring  up ;  arise,  sweet  bird,  arise. 

Cl'CKOO. 
Thou  gentle  Bard  I  Oh,  why  should  I  obey 
The  voice  that  chidea  me  for  my  lingering  lay. 
Nor  wait  His  just  command,  whose  awful  name 
None  save  with  defp-feit  reverence  may  proclaim  ? 
For  His  I  am,  to  Him  my  strains  belong, 
Who  gave  that  voice,  who  swells  that  vernal  song ! 
Like  me  in  deep  humility  of  mind 
Yield  grateful  homage,  to  His  will  reaign'd  ; 
Thou  canst  not  learn  of  earthly  things  the  cause, 
lie  meek  and  lowly,  and  revere  His  laws. 

BARD. 
Bird  of  dark-brown  hue  !  and  art  thou  come 
With  summons  stem  to  tear  me  from  my  home? 
Say,  dost  thou  chant  thy  monitoiy  lay 
In  sounds  prophetic  of  my  life's  last  day? 
And  must  those  tones,  just  welcom'd  with  delight. 
Heralds  of  Death,  my  trembling  soul  affright  ? 
Say,  must  I  now,  while  Spring  is  revelling  here, 
Quit  these  bright  scenes,  so  lovely  and  so  dear  ? 
Oh,  let  me  still,  while  yet  the  joy  remains, 
(iaze  on  these  sunlit  woods,  these  flowery  plains  ! 

CUCKOO. 
Fair  is  the  earth,  and  glorious  are  the  skies  ! 
Yet  seek  not  pleasures  which  thy  God  denies  ! 
In  Him  alone  repose  thy  hopes  and  fears, 
And  mark,  oh  mark !   how  fleet  thy  number'd  year; 
Already  threescore  springs  and  three  are  past. 
And  life  is  short — then  think,  how  near  thy  last  1 
Yes,  at  this  ^e,  oh  Bard !  the  blessed  Maid, 
Christ's  holy  Mother,  in  the  grave  was  laid  ; 
Grim  Death  smote  her,  who  gave  th'  Immortal  bir 
The  Judge  of  all,  the  Saviour  of  the  Earih  ! 


WELSH  POETRY  IN  ENGLISH  DRESS.  521 

BARD. 

And  ere  that  time  be  come,  no  more  the  form, 

Erect  and  firm,  resists  as  once  the  storm  ! 

And  ere  those  years  be  fled,  the  failing  eye 

And  shrunken  sinew  tell  us  "  Man  must  die  !" 

J)eign,  bounteous  bird  !  to  guide  my  erring  ways ; 

How  shall  I  learn  the  number  of  my  days  ? 

Vast  is  my  debt,  and  empty  is  my  hand  ; 

I  dare  not  thus  before  my  Saviour  stand  ! 

How,  when  the  trumpet  breaks  the  death-like  trance, 

Shall  I,  a  sinner,  meet  His  piercing  glance  ? 

CUCKOO. 

For  every  foolish  thought,  for  every  crime. 

Repent,  while  yet  for  penitence  is  time  ! 

J^eave  fancied  pleasures,  leave  Earth's  tinsel  toys. 

For  endless  rapture,  and  undying  joys  1 

So  shall  true  virtue  soothe  thy  tranquil  end. 

So  Christ  Himself  shall  on  thy  steps  attend  ; 

And,  victor  o'er  thy  spiritual  foes, 

Heaven  shall  be  thine  and  Zion's  blest  repose. 

One  boundless  bliss,  one  stream  of  deep  delight, 

While  seraphs  waft  thee  to  thy  Master's  sight ! 

BARD. 

Oh,  God  !  behold  me  by  Thy  mercy  mov'd 
Regret  the  hateful  sins  which  once  I  lov'd !    . 
That  I  have  erred  and  spum'd  Thy  bounties  high 
I  cannot  and  I  would  not  now  deny ! 
Ix)ok  on  me,  Father,  for  I  am  but  weak  ; 
Crush'd  with  the  weight  of  woes,  thy  aid  I  seek  ! 
Not  through  the  merit  of  my  own  vUe  deeds, 
But  lo  !  for  me  the  blessed  Saviour  pleads ! 
Oh  !  by  His  latest  pangs.  His  dying  love, 
Receive  thy  suppliant  to  the  realms  above ! 

Dii.ffi-yn.  ABERDARE. 


"CRIME  IN  WALES." 

That  Taffy  is  a  Webhman  and  that  TaflFy  is  a  thie 
aphorisms  of  such  proverbial  generality  as,  it  would  seei 
comniaod  a  certaia  amount  of  credence  amongst  our  H 
neiglibours ;  yet  there  he  many  who,  whilst  not  only  adnii 
our  cherished  nationality,  are  at  the  same  time  generous  en 
to  give  us  credit  for  being  at  least  no  less  honest  thai 
neighbours.  It  appears  strange  in  the  face  of  empty  gaoL 
blank  calendars  presented  continually  to  our  Judges  on  Cii 
that  there  should  be  any  misapprehension  respecting  crin 
the  Principality;  yet  there  is  a  general  opinion,  held,  more 
in  high  places,  that  we  are  not  only  no  better  than  we  si 
be,  but  are  also  not  quite  so  good  as  we  pretend  to  be  ;  thai 
morality  is,  as  Carlyle  would  say,a  solemn  sham.  On  the  one '. 
we  have  maiden  assizes  and  empty  gaols;  on  the  other 
expression  of  more  than  a  grave  suspicion  that  crime  lurl 
our  midst,  but  that  by  some  means  or  other  we  manag 
conceal  it.  What  is  evidently  hinted  at  may  be  made  cl< 
to  the  reader  by  an  illustration. 

In  days  gone  by,  certain  regiments  of  Her  Majesty's  i 
were  notorious  for  ha\ing  what  was  termed  clean  de&u] 
books;  thereby  gaining  for  the  oBBcer  commanding 
approbation  of  the  Inspecting  General  for  a  paucity  of  crim' 
state  of  things  reflecting  credit  on  all  concerned.  The  way 
was  arrived  at  was  simple  and  ingenious,  and  could  be  mam 
without  much  fear  of  detection.  Non-commissioned  off 
were  cautioned  not  to  keep  their  eyes  too  wide  open, 
prisoners  brought  before  the  commanding  officer  were 
possible,  only  admonished,  or  awarded  such  slight  punishi 
as  did  not  necessitate  an  entry  in  the  Regimental  Black  B 
In  other  words,  crime  was  winked  at,  and  it  is  delict 
insinuated  that  we  Welshmen  are  guilty  of  the  same  prac 
only  in  another  form.  Let  iis  now  see  what  grounds  we 
for  imagining  that  such  an  imputation  exists,  and  whether 
made  by  those  whose  opinions  are  deserving  of  attention. 

Formerly  it  was  the  custom  of  Judges  going  on  the  "Vi 
Circuit  to  honour  the  several  members  of  the  Grand  J 
together  with  the  High  Sheriff  and  his  Chaplain,  witi 
invitation  to  dinner,  and  on  such  occasioos  to  make  Uiemai 


«  CRIME  IX  WALES."  523^ 

acquainted  with  the  manners,  customs,  and  habits  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  various  counties  through  which  they  passed* 
Naturally  their  enquiries  were  directed  especially  towards  crime, 
and  by  consulting  those  who  had  probably  been  for  many  years 
presiding  judicially  amongst  their  fellow  countrymen  and 
neighbours,  they  were  enabled  to  arrive  at  a  tolerably  accurate 
knowledge  of  the  virtues  and  vices  of  the  people.  It  was  not 
difficult  to  detect  on  such  occasions  an  amount  of  incredulity 
on  the  part  of  the  learned  interrogators  as  to  the  paucity  of 
crime,  nor  was  it  unfrequent  for  a  Judge  who  in  the  morning 
had  been  presented  with  a  pair  of  white  gloves  as  an  emblem  of 
purity,  and  who  had  congratulated  the  county  on  its  freedom 
from  crime,  to  ask  the  High  Sheriff  confidentially  after  dinner  if 
he  really  believed  there  was  the  absence  of  crime  in  the 
Principality  that  outward  circumstances  seemed  to  indicate.. 
Whilst  such  views  were,  in  days  gone  by,  undoubtedly  cherished, 
they  were  kept  tolerably  secret,  but  in  these  more  modern  times 
similar  sentiments  have  been  more  publicly  proclaimed.  The 
Lord  Justice  who  lately  presided  in  the  southern  part  of  the 
Principality  gave  vent  to  his  suspicions  in  no  ambiguous 
language.  This  Judge,  charging  the  Grand  Jury  of  the  County 
of  Pembroke,  said  : — "  I  am  informed  that  there  are  no  bills  ta 
be  brought  before  you,  and  there  is  practically  nothing  to  do^ 
It  would  be  uncourteous  not  to  congratulate  the  county  upon 
such  a  state  of  things,  but  as  I  am  not  aware  exactly  of  all  the 
circumstances,  I  cannot  venture  to  carry  any  such  congratulation 
too  far.  If  the  action  of  the  police  is  perfectly  correct  and 
skilful,  and  if  the  administration  of  the  power  of  committing 
persons,  to  be  tried  either  at  sessions  or  assizes,  is  carried  out 
exactly  according  to  law,  no  doubt  the  fact  that  there  are  no 
prisoners  to  try  at  these  assizes  would  be  matter  of  perfect 
congratulation ;  but  if  either  of  these  two  circumstances  fail, 
then,  although  there  may  justly  be  congratulation,  it  would  not 
be  as  perfect  as  otherwise.  If  it  is  really  true  that  in  this 
great  county,  and  where  people  assemble  in  considerable 
numbers,  there  is  a  total  absence  of  crime,  I  can  only  say,  from 
my  own  experience  in  other  places,  that  it  is  a  most  wonderful 
state  of  things.  Under  the  circumstances  of  our  being  present 
to-day,  I  may,  perhaps,  as  the  judge  who  has  been  the  longest 
time  on  the  bench  in  administering  the  law,  venture  to  make 
a  few  remarks  to  you  upon  the  administration  of  the  law. 
Your  power  as  magistrates  consists  generally  of  the  duty  of 
considering  whether  persons  brought  before  you  shall  be 
committed  for  trial  at  the  assizes  or  sessions,  or  be  punished 
summarily.  You  should  discipline  yourselves  to  administer  the 
law  as  law  only.  You  are  not  to  do  what  you  think  right  or 
best  in  any  case,  but  to  do  what  is  according  to  law.  No  con- 
fiideration  of  advantage  to  the  country  or  of  personal  mercy 


,:?  •? 


^j24  ''  (;kime  in  wales. 

ought    to    interfere    with     the    complete    fulfilment    of   the 
adininistration  of  the  law  as  law." 

At  Cardigan,  I^ord  Justice  Brett,  finding  a  woman  committed 
for  the  theft  of  seven  pennyworth  of  note-paper,  did  not,  it 
would  appear,  think  it  necessary  to  refer  to  the  absence  of 
crime  in  ihe  county,  beyond  regretting  that  the 
Grand  Jury  should  have  had  the  trouble  of  coming 
there  to  find  so  little  to  occupy  their  services ;  but 
at  Cannarthen,  after  })ayiug  a  graceful  and  well-merited  com- 
pliment to  the  Foreman,  he  continued : — "  Gentlemen, — There 
are  but  very  few  prisoners  here  for  the  size  of  the  county — 
remarkably  few — and  the  cases  are  of  the  slightest  importance. 
Now,  I  know  not  to  what  extent  I  ought  to  congratulate  the 
county  u])on  this  state  of  things,  because  I  do  not  exactly 
know  how  the  criminal  poj^ulation  here  is  managed.  If  the 
police  are  perfectly  organised  and  perfectly  cajjable,  and  if  the 
law  is  administered  with  perfect  accuracy,  it  follows  that  there 
is  hardly  any  crime  in  the  coimty,  and  then  it  is  a  matter  of 
the  greatest  possible  congratulation.  But  if  there  are  oflFences 
which  are  committed  in  this  county  which  would  scientifically 
and  ])roperly  come  to  the  assizes,  but  which  do  not,  then  of 
course  I  have  not  the  means  of  knowing  exactly  what  the  real 
state  of  things  is.  But  I  supiK)se  that  many  persons  who 
commit  offences  in  this  county  are  dealt  with  either  summarily 
or  by  being  sent  to  the  quarter  sessions ;  and  that  being  so, 
and  considering  the  long  (experience  that  I  have  now  had  in  the 
administration  of  the  criminal  law,  I  will  venture  to  speak  to 
you  here  in  public  for  the  benefit  of  many  people  as  to  the 
mode  in  which  the  English  criminal  law  should  be  administered, 
and  the  rules  of  conduct  of  those  who  are  to  administer  it.'' 
These  extracts,  summed  up  in  more  homely  phraseology,  would 
seem  to  say — "  (ientlemen,  I  would  willingly  congratulate  yon 
on  the  non-existence  of  crime  in  your  several  counties  IF  it  did 
not  exist;  but  as  I  believe  it  does  exist,  though,  by  some 
means  it  is  not  brought  before  me,  my  congratulations  must 
assume  a  modified  form." 

It  is  by  no  means  intended  to  fasten  on  Lord  Justice 
Brett  an  unusual  or  isolated  opinion.  His  utterances  are 
merely  the  echo  of  those  of  ,  his  predecessors;  but,  being 
])ublicly  made,  fairly  challenge  a  reply,  and  open  up  a  question 
of  general  interest.  Here  then  we  have  the  proposition — Does 
crime,  as  alleged,  exist  amongst  us  ? 

Those  learned  in  such  matters  contend  that  crime  and  its 
existence  have  been  so  carefully  studied,  and  scientifically 
tabulated,  that  its  presence  in  determined  proportions  in  a 
^ven  area  is  as  certain  as  the  presence  of  zymotic  disease  in  a 
■district,  or  geological  strata  in  a  country,  and  therefinne  its 
iibsence  in  tlie  ¥Tmc\\)i8X\V^  \&  «o  >axLM<»^l  a  phenomenon  as  to 


"  CRIME  IX  WALES."  525- 

be  simply  incredible.  It  would  seem  not  to  be  a  difficult  task 
to  find  a  cause  for  this  paucity  of  crime  in  an  agricultural 
area,  where  the  busy  haunts  of  men  are  few  and  far  between, 
and  where  the  nature  of  the  occupation  of  its  inhabitants 
necessitates  a  strict  observance  of  the  adage,  "early  to  bed^ 
early  to  rise."  Nor  does  it  seem  foreign  to  such  a  line 
of  argument  to  point  out  that  the  humbleness,  indeed 
poverty,  of  the  people  offers  but  little  temptation  to  the 
cupidity  of  evil-disposed  neighbours;  neither  would  it  seem 
impertinent  to  specify  other  countries  in  which  the  absence 
of  crime  is  notorious,  such  as  Norway  and  Sweden,  or 
districts  such  as  Brittany  or  Normandy,  and  urge  that  what 
occurred  there  might  reasonably  occur  elsewhere.  Is  it  an 
entirely  new  feature  to  find  a  large  population  almost  entirely 
free  from  important  crime  ? 

It  is  not  desirable  to  enter  into  the  question  as  to  how  far 
religious  training  has  had  a  deterrent  effect  in  this  matter,  as  it 
is  useless  to  attribute  our  law-abiding  characteristics  ta 
sentiments  the  reality  and  genuineness  of  which  it  is  impossible 
to  gauge  satisfactorily.  Let  us  rather  judge  the  matter  by  the 
light  of  such  independent  testimony  as  can  be  procured.  To- 
this  end,  and  further  for  the  purpose  of  avoiding  the  possibility 
of  being  led  astray  by  personal  feeling  or  prejudice,  the  writer 
has  consulted  several  magistrates  of  long-standing,  and  sent 
the  following  list  of  categorical  questions  to  some  of  the  most 
experienced  chief  constables  of  our  Welsh  counties : — 

a)  Is  crime  to  any  extent  unreported  in  your  county  ? 

b)  When  reported,  does  detection  of  the   culprits   usually 
follow  ? 

(c)  Do  offenders,  when  convicted,  meet  with  the  punishment 
adequate  to  the  crime  committed  ?  or  is  there  a  tendency,  with 
a  view  to  saving  expense  to  the  county,  or  any  other  cause,  ta 
settle  the  cases  summarily,  and  not  send  them  to  a  higher 
tribunal  ? 

(cZ)  Have  you  detected  any  desire  on  the  part  of  officials  or 
private  individuals  to  conceal  or  hush  up  crime  ? 

(g)  If  any  disinclination  to  prosecute  exists,  can  you  in  any 
way  account  for  it  ? 

It  is  satisfactory  to  be  able  to  state  that  the  answers  to 
these  questions  on  the  part  of  the  chief  constables  display  a 
singular  unanimity,  so  much  so  that  to  save  space  they 
may  be  thus  generally  summarised  :  — 

(a)  Crime  is  rarely  unreported  in  Wales.  When  no  complaint 
is  made  or  information  given  to  the  police,  some  tie  of  relation- 
ship or  fear  that  time  and  money  may  be  lost  in  prosecuting 
is  the  deterrent  cause. 

(6)  Where  information  is  given  tolerably  soon  after  the 
discovery  of  loss  or  injury,  the  percentage  of  non-detected  cases 


(; 


1/ 


r-.T  i 


'■     '•  .'   '.  .     ^-.-r-.  -.ILr:-    -rCli     ^Tl.    WT^H-I    C*    av- 

'i' '. '";  U,rt,   -A    *f.  ..-'^  r.r.  >.lv^e:h«rr  difin:erested,  it  ma 
►"/f,  ',1*   ',f  /,.;i//:  at   •;..-  junc'ore  to  offer  a  few  remai 


*'  CRIME  IN  WALES."  527 

reference  to  the  police.  Of  course,  naturally  they  are  not  the 
best  judges  of  their  own  efficiency,  and  reports  on  their  own 
performances  may  be  questioned ;  but  it  can  be  said  without 
lear  of  contradiction  that  the  police  of  the  Principality  are  in  no 
respect  behind  their  brethren  in  other  parts  of  Great  Britain  in 
the  discharge  of  their  duties.  Complaints  of  negligence  or  laxity 
are  seldom  heard,  on  the  one  hand,  whilst  it  has  happened  more 
than  once  that  a  constable  has  incurred  unpopularity  in  his 
district  by  being  too  zealous  in  the  performance  of  his  duty. 
Cases  of  attempts  at  bribery,  especially  in  poaching  matters, 
often  come  before  the  Bench,  and  on  one  occasion  the  singular 
feature  of  a  prosecutor  trying  to  buy  off  a  prisoner  came  to  the 
writer's  notice.  The  offence  was  arson,  and,  strange  to  say,  the 
argument  made  use  of  to  induce  the  policeman  to  stay  further 
proceedings  (the  culprit  being  in  charge)  was  that  it  would  cost 
a  great  deal  of  money  to  push  the  matter  to  the  end. 

Hitherto  the  evidence  of  the  police  authorities  has  chiefly 
been  dealt  with ;  now  let  us  turn  to  the  opinion  of  the 
magistrates  themselves  on  the  subject  of  crime.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that^  as  a  body,  they  believe  there  is  little  (if  any) 
unreported  crime.  Sentences  at  petty  sessions  may  occasionally 
vary,  but  not  more  so  than  they  do  in  our  Metropolitan  Police 
Courts,  and  any  discrepancies  may  be  fairly  attributed  to  the 
varying  temperaments  of  the  presiding  justices.  A  gentleman 
of  nearly  thirty  years'  active  experience  as  a  magistrate  of  two 
counties,  and  an  important  borough,  writes : — "  I  think  that 
crimes  brought  before  us  (especially  at  quarter  sessions)  as  a 
rule  meet  with  an  adequate  punishment,  and  I  certainly  cannot 
«ay  that  I  have  known  any  tendency  to  minimise  sentences  for 
the  sake  of  saving  expense  to  the  county." 

Again, "  In  petty  sessions  there  seem  tome  at  times  sentences 
that  do  not  altogether  tally  with  cases  of  the  same  sort.  This 
has  nothing  to  do  with  any  wish  to  save  expense  to  the  county, 
but  is  simply  because  magistrates  are  not  all  cast  in  the  same 
mould ;  some  being  of  a  hardish  hitting  kind  (I  do  not  think 
unnecessarily  so),  whilst  others  are  of  a  more  lenient  sort,  from 
kindness  and  sometimes  from  fear  that  their  sentences  may  call 
forth  newspaper  comments  as  to  severity." 

It  is  almost  amusing  to  observe  at  times  the  different  ways  in 
which  several  magistrates  look  on  the  various  crimes  brought 
before  them,  judging  them  according  to  their  peculiar 
idiosyncrasies,  and  to  notice  how  sentences  vary  as  the  feelings 
of  the  bench  are  moved  by  the  supposed  enormity  or  otherwise 
of  the  offence.  The  selection  by  magistrates  themselves  of 
permanent  chairmen  in  each  petty  sessional  division  who  would 
make  it  their  duty  to  attend  as  regularly  as  possible,  would  tend 
much  to  make  sentences  more  uniform ;  but  necessarily  each  case 
must  be  adjudicated  on  its  own  merits,  and  sentences  must  be 


528  "CRIME  IN  WALES." 

tempered  from  time  to  time,  according  to  circnmstances. 
it  not  be  fairly  taken,  then,  on  the  evidence  addaced,  that 
is  not  systematically  concealed  or  hushed  up ;  that  sen 
are  commensurate  with  crime,  and  that  all  <»seB  that  i 
fairly  be  taken  to  a  higher  tribunal  eventually  lind  thei 
there.  That  if  concealment  does  exist,  it  is  in  such  t 
instances  as  would  not  call  forth  such  sweeping  denunci 
as  are  held  forth,  aad  that  in  these  caseij  the  det 
causes  are  wholly  independent  of  any  desire  to  make  our 
appear  in  a  favourable,  but  false,  light  to  the  world. 

The  disinclination,  which  we  fear  does  exial,  to  entei 
prosecutions  leads  us  to  the  consideration  of  a  very  S' 
subject  that  is  now  occupying  public  attention,  namelj 
removal  of  assizes  from  county  towns  and  concentrating 
in  a  more  central  position.  Those  in  favour  of  this  at 
urge  the  futility  of  moving  the  cumbrous  machinerv  < 
law  to  out  of  the  way  comers  of  the  earth  to  no  purp 
there  being  no  cases  for  trial.  We  would  meet  that  obji 
by  asking  who  are  they  that  are  inconvenienced  by 
arr:ingement  ?  The  juries,  witnesses,  culprits,  and 
sheriH's  must  move  to  any  place  that  may  be  selecte 
the  hearing  of  criminal  cases.  The  Judges  thems 
and  the  Bar  seemingly,  are  the  parties  whose  int 
are  so  carefully  considered.  The  former  get  good  salarie 
allowiinces,  they  need  never  accejrt  the  ermine  unless 
■wish  it.  The  Bar,  on  the  other  hand,  attend  either  for 
own  pleasure  or  profit,  and  need  never,  in  these  days  of 
grams,  put  in  an  appearance  where  there  is  no  criminal  oi 
Business.  One  argument  does  demand  serious  consider 
and  that  is  the  unnecessary  expenditure  (waste,  we  will  < 
if  it  jileases)  of  time  by  paid  officials  whose  servicea  are 
urgently  required  elsewhere,  and  whose  work  issooverwhel 
as  to  be  constantly  in  arrears.  This  is,  indeed,  a  matt 
importance,  but  surely  this  evil,  by  a  little  management,  i 
be  considerably  modified ;  besides,  we  are  inclined  to  i 
that  the  brief  holiday  our  Judges  get  whilst  visiting  dis 
where  the  amount  of  work  is  of  a  character  not  hkely  to 
tax  their  mind  is  scarcely  to  be  set  down  as  pure  waste, 
■when  we  consider  the  arguments  on  the  other  side  of  the  > 
tion,  the  scale  seems  to  be  indeed  unevenly  balanced.  If  th 
inclination  to  prosecute,  already  adverted  to,  has  been  assi 
to  its  proper  cause,  how  much  more  serious  will  that  aversii 
when  the  unhappy  prosecutors,  witnesses,  &c.,  have  to  t 
a  long  distance  out  of  their  own  county,  and  be  absent 
home  for  an  indefinite  period,  at  a  time,  possibly,  when 
hour  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  them,  when  a  daj 
may  never  be  regained, 

But    another   aspect    is    presented.     At    present    whi 


«  CRIME  IN  WALES."  529 

man  unfortunately  becomes  mixed  xi'p  in  a  serious  crime, 
he  goes  in  the  course  of  events  to  his  own  county  town, 
where  he  is  sure  to  find  his  own  language  spoken,  and,  if 
not  personally  known  to  any  one  there,  is  certain  to  meet 
some  one  or  two  of  his  neighbours  summoned  on  the  petty 
jury.  He  will  probably  find  some  of  the  magistrates  in  the 
grand  jury  room  to  whom  he  is  known ;  possibly  some  of  them 
belong  to  his  own  petty  sessional  division,  at  which  the  case  was 
committed  for  trial ;  at  any  rate  he  will  scarcely  be  houseless 
or  friendless,  but  will  meet  with  someone  to  whom  he  can  look 
for  sympathy  in  his  trying  ordeal.  But  take  him  away  to  some 
central  large  town,  and  he  will,  indeed,  be  like  a  ship  without 
a  compass,  an  outcast  in  a  busy  throng,  liable  to  fall  a  prey  to 
any  unprinci|)led  rascal.  This  is  scarcely  the  way  to  produce 
confidence,  and  encourage  a  fearless  exposure  of  crime.  Add 
to  this  the  dread  of  being  bullied  in  court  by  lawyers,  and  the 
risk  of  being  exposed  to  a  charge  of  intense  stupidity,  because  he 
has  not  shown  an  intelligent  appreciation  of  proceedings  carried 
on  in  a  language  wholly  unknown  to  him,  and  the  cup  of  his 
bitterness  is  full  to  the  brim.  The  writer,  who  has  had 
experience  in  foreign  courts  of  justice,  has  often  been  surprised 
at  the  readiness  of  Judges  to  attribute  to  wilful  stupidity  the 
verdicts  of  men  who  have  been  in  reality  trying  a  case  in  an 
unknown  tongue.  What  would  have  been  the  result  had  the 
case  been  reversed,  and  the  Judges  placed  in  the  jury  box  ? 
Probably  the  legal  axiom  of  giving  the  prisoner  the  benefit  of 
a  doubt  would  be  fully  acted  upon. 

It  may  be  considered  that  a  suspicion  of  sentimentality  lurks 
about  the  next  argument  that  we  shall  use,  but  inasmuch 
as  we  are  all  creatures  of  impulse,  and  liable  to  be  acted 
upon  by  mysterious  agencies,  we  shall  venture  to  urge 
that  some  consideration  should  be  paid  to  the  majesty  of  the 
law,  that  something  is  due  to  the  eflFect  produced  by  the  pre- 
sence of  the  scarlet  and  ermine  in  our  midst.  Those  who  have 
passed  the  meridian  of  life,  and  are  advancing  towards  the 
sear  and  yellow  leaf,  may  be  callous  and  indifferent  to  such 
influences,  but  was  this  always  the  case  ?  Who  cannot  remem- 
ber the  sensation  caused  by  the  blast  of  the  trumpets,  and  the 
escort  of  the  javelin  men;  now,  alas!  superseded  by  policemen. 
The  county  magnates  all  assembled  in  their  holiday  clothes 
to  do  honour  to  Her  Majesty's  representative ;  before  whom  the 
High  Sheriff,  himself  in  full  Court  dress,  stands  with  head 
uncovered.  These  things  make  a  lasting  impression,  and,  like 
old  wives'  fables,  produce  an  effect.  But  perhaps  the  most 
beneficial  eflFect  arises  from  the  actual  presence  in  the  county 
of  the  exponent  of  law  and  order,  the  being  who  can  and 
will  punish  oflFenders.  His  coming  is  no  secret,  and  the 
result  of   his  deliberations  in    these   small    areas  is  made  a 

I  I 


-„      »■   - 


-    T- 


. .  _  «  ■  • 


T    *   -. 


\  • 


'    ■  'i  .   •         I      ^ a 

1*1    #■'!.'   ^      "■* 


a—l    .TviT— —  .  ^ 


.>.  H.  Joxes-Pakr 


WELSH  CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 


THE  OLD  "  CARAVAN." 


The  very  n&me  carries  one  back  to  the  old  days  before  rail- 
ways were  known  in  South  Wales,  when  the  yearning  to  get  to 
the  seaside  was  as  strong  as  now,  and  the  ways  of  getting  there 
difficult  and  more  expensive.  Ooing  to  the  sea  coast  of  Aber- 
ayron  and  Aberystwith,  and  a  dozen  other  places,  meant  going 
home  as  well  to  the  emigrants,  who  had  come  south  or  west  to 
labour  in  the  iron  works  when  a  Guest  was  at  Dowlais,  and 
Bichard  Cranshay  at  Cyfarthfa,  and  a  Homfray  at  Penydarran. 
The  sons^of  the  Cardigan  coast,  tempted  by  the  wages  given  on 
the  hills,  came  down  by  the  hundreds  ;  and  it  was  but  natural, 
after  years  of  toil  in  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day,  that  they 
Bhould  yearn  for  a  sight  of  the  old  folks  at  home,  and  for  a  sniff 
of  the  fresh  breezes  of  the  sea.  When  their  mind  was  made  up, 
the  preparations  for  a  start  bad  to  be  considered  ;  and  these  were 
extensive.  A  journey  to  London  nowa-days  is  nothing  to  what 
that  journey  was. 

112 


532  WELSH  CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 

Let  me  sketch  a  scene  such  as  I  often  saw.  The  caravan 
started  from  the  "  Red  Cow,"  and  early  in  the  morning  men  and 
women  with  bundles  might  be  seen  making  their  waj  to  the 
place,  and  the  "  Red  Cow  "  did  a  thriving  business  for  an  hour 
in  retailing  something  stronger  than  milk  for  the  adventurous 
crowd.  Very  fussy  and  busy  was  the  driver,  owner,  and 
conductor,  for  he  was  the  three  personages  in  one  ;  and  shrewd 
"  Cardies  "  made  his  face  redden  with  pints  and  **  small  drops," 
hoping,  in  return,  to  receive  extra  attentions  on  the  route,  which 
they  never  did !  What  a  bustle  there  was  of  preparation  in 
putting  in  the  bundles  and  parcels,  and  securing  the  fares  ;  and 
long  after  the  time  specified,  with  a  great  clamour  and  crowding 
of  friends  and  shouting  of  "  farewellwch,"  they  started — every 
man  and  woman  in  the  van.  As  the  expedition  made  its  way 
through  the  town — a  village  then — everybody  stopped  to  look 
at  it,  as  if  the  adventurers  were  going  into  a  foreign  land,  to 
encounter  perils  and  endure  sufferings  such  as  had  beset  great 
ex])lorers  in  the  Far  West,  or  sandy  Afirica. 

The  first  mile  or  so  was  always  a  pleasant  one,  for  the  way 
was  not  too  hilly,  and  the  horses  were  fresh,  and  everybody 
rode.  But  very  soon,  when  the  steep  hills  had  to  be  en- 
countered, the  pleasantness  ended.  Every  male  had  to  jump 
down  and  walk,  and  in  the  case  of  females,  all  who  were  not  too 
old  and  bulky  were  compelled  to  do  the  same.  I  can  honestly 
say  that  in  the  journey  of  sixty  or  eighty  miles  fully  two-thirds 
of  the  way  were  trudged,  the  only  benefit  to  the  passengers  being 
that  their  bundles  were  carried.  The  driver  had  a  code  of  rules, 
roughly  stated,  and  this  was  that  there  were  first,  second,  and 
third  class  passengers.  The  first,  by  right,  rode  always ;  the 
second  rode  when  practicable  ;  but  the  third  enjoyed  a  ride  only 
on  sufferance,  when  the  road  was  down  hill,  or  on  the  level. 
Still  it  was  a  merry  gathering.  All  were  on  a  thorough 
equality,  despite  the  carrier's  artificial  distinctions.  Occasionally 
there  was  singing  by  the  way,  especially  after  a  pint  at  road- 
side inns,  many  of  which,  now  that  the  caravan  days  are  over, 
have  ceased  to  be. 

One  of  the  most  frequent  routes  took  Llandovery  in  its  way; 
and  mothers,  who  had  boys  at  school  there,  were  in  the  habit  of 
sending  small  parcels  of  cake  and  other  good  things  to  moderate 
the  discipline  of  the  tutors.  Sometimes  the  parcels  were 
missing,  either  through  the  sleight  of  hand  of  helps  who  came 
to  assist  at  the  baiting  place,  or  by  the  cupidity  of  the  driver. 
Once  a  goose,  ready  plucked  and  prepared  for  the  roasting, 
proved  too  strong  a  temptation  to  that  weather-worn,  red  faced 
personage.  The  tale  told  to  me  by  a  friend,  a  worthy  clergy- 
man now  of  a  populous  district^  ran  as  follows :  His  mother  had 
sent  him  a  goose,  and  the  maternal  hands  had  plucked  it  and 
filled  it  with  savoury  onions  and  sage,  and  tied  around  it  the 


THE  OLD  "  CARAVAN."  533 

vhitest  of  napkins,  the  whole  being  encased  in  brown  paper. 
The  wrappage  did  not  conceal  the  fact  of  goose  within,  but 
enabled  the  sender  to  put  the  address  without.  That  goose 
never  reached  the  boy.  A  letter  by  post  had  told  him  what 
was  coming,  and  a  brightened  eye  and  moisture  at  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  expressed  his  satisfaction ;  but  the  goose  never 
came.  Driver  at  first  denied  receiving  it ;  then  thought  it 
must  have  been  lost  on  the  road.  It  was  a  long  time  before  the 
secret  leaked  out.  The  caravan  had  arrived  at  one  of  its  usual 
stopping  places,  a  wild  mountainous  spot,  and  the  keen  air  had 
given  a  wonderful  appetite,  which  the  spare  oat  cake  and  milk 
of  that  region  did  not  by  any  means  satisfy.  In  fact,  all  were 
hungry — passengers,  driver,  everybody.  Happy  thought,  the 
driver  remembered  his  parcel,  and  wicked  fancies  stole  into  his 
mind.  A  vision  of  a  roasting  goose,  crackling  and  sputtering 
and  sending  forth  tempting  fragrance,  rose  before  him.  The 
defunct  bird  seemed  to  mock  him,  and  in  fancy  he  heard  from 
its  slit  gizzard  the  jeering  words,  "  Would  you  like  to  eat  me  ?  " 
Flesh  and  blood  could  not  stand  it  any  longer.  "  Fechgyn ! "  he 
said,  "  Boys  !  I  was  have  a  goose  in  van.  What  you  say,  we 
roast  him,  and  eat  him  up  ?  "  A  general  chorus  of  approval 
greeted  the  daring  suggestion,  and  that  night  the  whole  party 
enjoyed  one  of  the  pleasantest  suppers  on  record. 

This,  I  may  add,  was  quite  an  exceptional  case.  As  a  rule, 
the  drivers  were  thoroughly  trustworthy ;  and  a  sharp  appetite, 
do  you  know,  and  no  means  to  gratify  it,  would  break  down  the 
scruples  of  many  men.  So  reasoning,  let  us  forget  the  goose  ! 
The  caravan  is  now  practically  a  thing  of  the  past.  The  pilgrim- 
ages through  the  old  world  villages  of  Cardiganshire  and 
Pembrokeshire,  which  let  a  little  life  and*  light  in  at  regular 
intervals,  are  at  an  end.  The  collier  pilgrim  and  the  iron- 
worker pilgrim  now  speed  past  in  railway  carriages ;  and  the 
Aberayron  and  Aberystwith  and  Ferryside  and  Saundersfoot 
Meccas  have  so  changed,  that  if  the  old  people  of  fifty  years  ago 
came  back  they  would  scarcely  remember  the  spots  where  the 
caravan  came  in  rejoicing,  and  went  out  with  fervent  hand- 
shaking and  farewell. 

Ap  Adda. 


i     JZ      ^   J     ±2     ^IT±L. 


j^    ^JGETT    ^  ^1l-53CUT:^^IHK 


'.ILZ  T   -r-r   "3ZTir?w    -DLL   JS-    3L^:W  msf*    SBDCT  ai»    Va»  UllOl  2 

L*T«"TT.    jsti    iDCTc-i  :jrf^  sratt  "iiisE^  illj.  iixt  iow  voice 

i-f^jG-  aiii  "iLt--i  TTrTT  irnnmu  iBareaiT'  ireunzzK  rf  true  imMgr 
:ii*-?TiiiiijrTjCt»«=-  iiy=?r -ruler ^irmiii:  unrer^  x  iw  coLtnznes  heoee 
inii*^  -at?  r^ie  if  \hiii  Zc^  nHt  ais  rjirnnirrjCMc.  ^^3i^  SceeL 

r^i**:*^  JiLTiiit^^  "'^-iiicjiieu  I  «7^  -mFErft  ^jtsceati  to  umid  their 
•ivm  irfaxrsj,  nut  icr  "rnnnie  jbunc  irnts-  peooAe*^  cacnic  little 
5ir  insfsu  inii  ^ril  jes  iir  TOiTniss.  woikil  in  tairee  dajs  wtire 
mnnte  -^rurni^L.  "hr  -^TiTgnr  -^ig.  r^^c  r  ami.  ac  dte-  cxme  of  my 
<r*-rr.  -iT'inr  P^BuiniiniL  had  yitrsnsar^jT  yxmbimid  hoch.  Bui 
>^  if  rnj  TMrniT^  laii  •?^:7*r  jt^  "^e  ^mrn^  of  inisir  o«m  peftcefsl 
-j'uliPfT,  n#^7rsiiii  m  i^rczkaijixal  t:s!:  r^j  tie  shjeep  £ur  «t  T^e, 
*x**.*^r.  -#ir!i«»».  rae  ^noi  jirhpr?  ac  tke  cii  ^rer  Ptiorr  on  the 
hr:li«ir>.  .uifi  F^srsusr  Buxr«^3L.  ^f  Cwmr^i^IicoT.  who  had  onoe 
jfirnmi^^  3S  5ir  3s(  tiu>>  Ei^yal  dtr  cf  Caer  Lieon,  snd  had 
rronj^t  bft^  w<'jiiiii77i3s  tx^  <:^  ir^^  sptemSxir  and  of  the  stiange 
iki^ifjk  b^  h^  seen  there — cali»  wkkji  he  v;is  nerer  wesiy  of 

farmer  ELrA-wftu  hsui  been  a  gainer  too  hr  this  risit,  finr  his 
^rt:(i^<«^n/^  of  the  world  tho^  ob^zn«d  had  consideiaU j  derated 
hirn  m  th^  ejea  of  his  feliowa,  who  conseqnentfy  looked  up  to 
him  wi  ^>et^  fitt^  to  take  the  lead  in  the  little  oommimitj  at 
A}:f^'IAwv4,  a  distinction  which  Blodwen  fullj  a{^preciated ; 
Hfiflf  fm  the  strength  of  it,  he  had  often — as  the  "  Vox  popnli" 
— hsyi\  the  hardihood  to  protest  against  the  impositicRis  laid 
u\ttm  ihf*,  neighbourhood  by  the  powerful  Prior  of  Tre-Fethyn 
in  the  uiitnf.  of  Mother  Chnrch,  who  then,  as  in  later  years,  was 
frc^jiienily  qiioterl  as  the  aothority  for  many  a  deed  of  a 
lerably  **  shady  "  complexion. 


BONT  O'R  AP  HYWEL.  535 

Perched  high  on  the  wooded  hillside  on  the  opposite  bank  of 
the  river  to  the  village,  the  Priory  of  Tre-Fethyn  might  have 
been  seen  peeping  out  from  the  thick  foliage  of  beech  and  elm 
with  the  east  end  of  its  quaint  chapel,  where  the  village  folk 
attended  service  when  they  felt  inclined,  and  near  which  their 
bodies  were  laid  to  rest,  beneath  the  solemn  yews.  When  this 
life's  toils  were  over.  The  only  road  from  Aber-Llwyd  to  the 
Priory  led  across  the  Avon,  but  the  fine  old  stone  bridge  which 
had  once  spanned  the  stream  had  long  since  been  reduced  to  a 
heap  of  ruins  by  time  and  weather;  and  the  great  moss- 
covered  stones  which  had  once  composed  it  lay  scattered  in  the 
stream — slippery  stepping-stones  for  those  who  found  it  necessary 
to  cross. 

It  was  nearly  twenty  years  since  the  bridge  fell  during  a 
violent  storm,  yet  neither  monks  nor  laymen  seemed  disposed 
to  repair  it.  It  is  true  the  Priory  had,  some  years  before,  levied 
a  tax  on  the  neighbourhood  for  this  purpose,  but  the  funds  thus 
obtained  had  been  expended  in  re-roofing  the  chapel,  for  "  It 
is  better,"  said  the  then  Prior — Davyd  ap  Crynan — "  to  make 
the  House  of  God  water-tight  than  the  shoes  of  His  worship- 
pers," when  complaints  from  the  farmers  reached  him. 

So  the  bridge  lay  in  ruins,  and,  as  Sunday  after  Sunday  came 
round,  the  chapel  presented  a  woefully  empty  appearance,  and 
the  oiferings  of  the  congregation  grew  proportionately  less,  for 
the  majority  did  not  care  to  cross  the  rapid  stream  at  the  risk 
of  a  wetting,  in  order  to  hear  a  long  prosaic  discourse  from 
one  of  the  good  fathers,  or  to  repeat  prayers,  which  they  might 
do,  they  said,  at  home,  with  more  comfort  and  equal  effect. 

The  Prior  at  this  time — Friar  Teigyn — was  a  gentle  retiring 
priest,  who  gave  more  thought  to  meditation  and  his  missal 
than  to  the  management  of  the  lands  and  revenues  of  the 
Monastery,  or  the  enforcement  of  discipline  amongst  the  monks 
and  respect  for  the  brotherhood  amongst  the  tenants  and  country 
folk — tasks  which  he  gladly  relinquished  to  the  Sub-Prior, 
Davyd  ap  Hywel  (so  called  to  distinguish  him  from  the  late 
Prior),  who  as  readily  undertook  them ;  for  he  was  a  man  of 
strong  unbending  will,  who  loved  power,  anl  knew  its  value  and 
the  difficulty  of  maintaining  it. 

Now  this  matter  of  the  bridge  sorely  troubled  Friar  Davyd, 
who,  to  do  him  justice,  was  much  concerned,  in  addition  to 
the  personal  inconvenience  and  the  decrease  in  the  revenues 
of  the  Priory,  at  the  persistent  absence  of  the  villagers  from 
Mass  and  Confession,  and  their  seeming  neglect  of  religion. 
But  the  invariable  reply  to  all  his  exhortations  to  amendment 
was,  "There  is  no  bridge,  Father,  and  we  can't  cross  the 
river ;"  while  occasionally  one,  more  outspoken  than  his  fellows, 
would  say,  ^  Ye  have  taken  our  silver,  and  ye  have  not  built 
the  bridge  as  ye  promised — no  wonder  your  chapel  is  empty." 


536  BONT  O'R  AP  HYWTIL. 

Friar  Davyd  knew  that  the  villagers  had  right  on  their  side, 
and,  though  the  monks  had  not  mighty  still  he  argued  it  would 
never  do  to  yield.  The  dignity  of  Mother  Church  and  the 
prestige  of  the  Priory  must  be  upheld  at  any  cost,  and  so 
things  went  on  until,  at  last,  matters  came  to  a  crisis. 

It  chanced,  one  fine  bright  May  morning,  that  a  messenger 
arrived  at  the  Monastery,  requesting  that  someone  should  be 
sent  to  Cwmryn-Iscoy  to  baptise  the  infant  child  of  Farmer 
Blodwen,  which  was  in  a  dying  state.  Friar  Davyd  obeyed  the 
summons,  and,  springing  lightly  over  the  moss-covered  stones 
in  the  shallow  bed  of  the  Avon,  speedily  arrived  at  his  desti- 
nation, and  performed  the  holy  ceremony  required,  the  child, 
happily,  having  partially  recovered.  Pressed  by  the  hospitable 
farmer  the  monk  stayed  to  partake  of  the  mid-day  meal,  and 
indulge  afterwards  in  metheglyn  and  a  chat  over  matters  in 
general.  The  metheglyn  was  potent,  and  the  conversation  a 
pleasant  relaxation  after  the  rigid  discipline  of  Lent.  So  Davyd 
stayed  on,  and,  while  he  and  the  farmer  were  hotly  discussing 
the  bridge  question,  the  shadows  of  evening  had  fast  gathered 
around. 

"  Well,  well,  my  son,"  exclaimed  the  monk,  as  he  rose  to 
take  his  leave,  "  it  draws  near  the  time  for  Compline,  and  ere 
I  reach  the  river  the  tolling  of  the  chapel  bell  will  be  sounding 
throughout  the  valley.  But  walk  with  me,  and  let  us  endeavour 
to  find  some  plan  by  which  we  may  settle  this  matter  of  the 
bridge  to  our  mutual  satisfaction." 

"  Aye,  Father,"  replied  Blodwen,  as  he  trudged  along  in  the 
cool  twilight  by  the  side  of  the  tall  muscular  priest,  *'  but  the 
biu-den  lies  on  thee  and  thine.  We  have  done  our  share  ;  full 
fifteen  years  ago  the  country  folk  jmid  their  hard-earned  silver 
to  Friar  Davyd  ap  Crynan — God  rest  his  soul !  Thou  knowest 
best  why  it  was  not  spent,  as  ye  promised,  to  rebuild  the 
bridge." 

"  But,  my  son,  you  forget  that  it  is  as  much  the  duty  and 
blessed  privilege  of  the  faithful  to  give  their  alms  for  the  repair 
of  God's  House  as  to  restore  a  bridge  for  secular  use ;  and  if  we 
had  not  roofed  the  chapel  when  we  did,  ye  would  have  been 
asked  soon  after  to  give  of  your  substance  that  it  might  be 
done." 

"  Nay,  Father,  the  chapel  belongs  to  thee  and  thy  brethren^ 
and  it  is  ye  who  should  bear  the  expense  connected  with  it ; 
but  the  bridge  belongs  to  us  all  in  common,  and  it  is  our 
common  duty  to  keep  it  in  order." 

**  Ye  have,  it  is  true,  lent  unto  the  Lord  by  restoring  His 
House,  and  He  will  be  mindful  of  it.  That  was  a  work  of  piety. 
What  we  now  ask  you  to  do  is  a  matter  of  common  interest* 
The  Brethren  will  assist  the  faithful  in  their  task,  but  they 
cannot  bear  the  whole  burden." 


BONT  O'B  AP  HYWEL.  537 

"  It  is  useless,  Father ;  ye  have  taken  our  wealth  wherewith 
to  build  this  bridge,  and  ye  have  used  it  for  another  purpose^ 
One  thing  I  can  assure  thee  of — not  a  man  in  the  valley  will 
raise  even  his  little  finger  to  render  further  help  in  this- 
matter." 

"  Then,"  exclaimed  the  Sub-Prior,  his  ill-concealed  rage  now 
bursting  forth,  "go,  Blodwen  ap  Mathem,  and  tell  yon  rebellious- 
dogs  that  the  Prior  of  Tre-Fethyn  will  not  build  this  bridge,  and 
moreover " 

"  Who  then  ?"  interposed  the  farmer. 

"  The  foul  fiend,  your  master,"  replied  the  angry  priest. 

"  Aye,  for  thee  to  pass  over,"  was  the  blunt  retort  of  the  other,, 
as,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  strode  quickly  homewards. 

For  a  moment  Davyd  gazed  on  the  farmer's  burly  form,  fast 
becoming  indistinct  in  the  soft  grey  twilight,  and  then, 
clenching  his  hands,  walked  on  in  silence  until  he  reached  the 
brook,  where  the  remains  of  the  bridge  recalled  to  his  mind  the 
last  sentence  of  his  companion,  and  again  the  monk  repeated : 
"  Aye,  aye,  the  Devil  may  repair  it,  for  /  will  not." 

"  Come  now,  that  is  scarcely  fair,"  exclaimed  a  deep  voice  at 
his  elbow.    "  Still  I  am  always  ready  to  help  my  friends." 

"  Who  art  thou  ?  "  queried  the  astonished  priest,  as  the  form 
of  his  new  companion  met  his  view.  A  tall,  thin  man,  wrapped 
in  a  dark  cloak,  stood  at  his  side,  his  head  uncovered,  and  his 
striking  profile  and  deep  penetrating  eyes  brought  out  into 
relief  by  the  pale  soft  light  of  the  moon,  which  had  just 
emerged  from  behind  the  clouds. 

"  A  friend,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  one  who  will  help  thee,  if 
thou  needest  it." 

"  I  do  indeed  need  help,  but  none  that  thou  canst  give.  If 
thou  art  a  friend,  build  this  bridge." 

"  Aye,  that  I  will,  on  one  condition." 

"  Thou  wilt  ? "  cried  the  Sub-Prior,  astounded  at  the  cool 
manner  in  which  the  offer  was  made.  "Then  name  thy 
condition." 

"  Come  and  try  thy  strength  with  me,"  replied  his  strange 
companion.  "  Stand  thou  on  the  Tre-Fethyn  side  of  the  stream 
and  I  on  this,  and  let  him  who  can  pull  the  other  over  be 
victor,  and  let  the  vanquished  build  the  bridge." 

"  I  agree,  and  let  the  victor  give  his  name  to  it,"  said  the 
priest  as  he  looked  complacently  on  the  spare  figure  of  his 
antagonist,  confident  in  the  strength  of  his  own  sinewy  limbs. 

As  the  monk  spoke  he  leapt  across  the  stream,  and,  baring^ 
his  arms  and  tightening  his  girdle,  he  advanced  to  meet  his 
challenger.  For  a  moment  the  combatants  silently  regarded 
each  other,  and  then  grappling,  and  firmly  planting  their  feet 
in  the  bed  of  the  stream,  each  strove  with  might  and  main  for 


^38  BONT  O'K  AP  HYWEL. 

mastery:    now  the  monk  would  appear  to  yield,    now    his 
antagonist. 

For  full  ten  minutes  had  the  struggle  continued  without 
a  perceptible  advantage  to  either,  and  the  combatants, 
still  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  stood  panting  for  breath,  when 
suddenly  Davyd's  foot  slipped  on  a  moss-covered  stone  in  the 
stream,  and  he  would  have  fallen  had  he  not  clutched  his 
^companion's  shoulder  with  his  left  hand,  while  with  his  right, 
as  he  recovered  his  footing,  he  involuntarily  crossed  himself, 
muttering,  "  Holy  Virgin  protect  me."  With  a  shriek  his 
antagonist  sprang  back,  but  the  monk,  seizing  him  with  both 
hands,  pulled  him  easily  across  the  stream. 

A  strange  change  in  the  appearance  of  the  unknown  now 
manifested  itself  to  the  sight  of  the  awe-struck  monk.  ITie 
bright  eyes  of  the  stranger  had  turned  to  coals  of  living  fire, 
two  unsightly  horns  sprang  from  his  uncovered  head,  and  his 
■dark  cloak  became  a  pair  of  black  loathsome  wings,  with  which 
he  took  to  flight,  filling  the  air,  as  he  departed,  with  shrieks  of 
mingled  rage  and  pain. 

"I  have  striven  with  the  fiend,  and  I  have  conquered,'' 
exclaimed  the  astonished,  though  imdaunted  Sub-Prior,  as  he 
sank  back,  exhausted,  on  the  soft  green  turf.  When  he 
recovered  himself  he  found  two  of  the  brethren  from 
Tre-Fethyn  bending  over  him,  whilst  close  by  stood  the  aged 
Prior  and  the  others  seemingly  engaged  in  earnest  conversation. 
Dawn  was  just  breaking,  and,  as  Davyd  ap  Hywel  looked  up, 
he  saw  in  front  of  him  a  fine,  noble  bridge  spanning  the 
peaceful  river.  With  a  gleam  of  satisfaction  in  his  eyes,  he 
muttered  •  "  Aha,  he  has  kept  his  word." 

Springing  to  his  feet,  Davyd  related  to  the  wondering  crowd 
the  events  of  the  preceding  night,  pointing  out  the  new-built 
bridge  as  an  evidence  of  the  truth  of  nis  statement.  On 
further  examination,  traces  of  the  terrible  struggle  between 
man  and  fiend  were  found  on  the  Aber-Llwyd  side  of  the  stream, 
where  the  bank  was  covered  with  huge  deep  prints  of  a  hoof. 
The  shrubs  and  grass  around  appeared  scorched,  whilst  the 
Sub-Prior's  shoulders  bore  the  faint  imprints  of  his  ghostly 
antagonist's  "  talons."  For  many  a-  long  day  the  bridge  was 
superstitiously  regarded  by  the  simple  country  folk,  who 
dreaded  passing  across  it,  lest  the  fiend  should  come  to  claim 
those  who  trespassed  upon  his  property.  So  the  Prior  of 
Tre-Fethyn  and  his  Community  solemnly  took  possession  of  it 
in  the  name  of  the  Church,  and,  in  the  presence  of  all  the 
country  side,  dedicated  it  for  ever  to  the  use  of  God  and  His 
people. 

No  longer  now  did  the  chapel-bell  peal  vainly  its  summons 
to  mass  or  matins.     From  far  and  near  flocked  the  people  to 


BONT  O'K  AP  HYWEL.  539 

see  the  bridge  of  Ap  Hywel  (for  so  it  was  called,  according  to 
the  compact),  and  to  hear  from  the  Sub-Prior's  own  mouth  the 
story  of  that  eventful  night. 

So  ends  my  story.  In  after  years  Bont  o'r  Ap  Hywel  became 
the  centre  of  the  now  growing  village  of  Aber-Llwyd,  to  which 
it  gave  its  name,  since  softened  by  lazy  Saxon  lips  from  Bont 
o'r  Ap  Hywel  to  Pontypool.  In  conclusion,  if  there  be  any  of 
my  readers  who  doubt  the  truth  of  my  tale,  let  them  visit  the 
Vale  of  Avon-Llwyd,  where  they  will  still  find  in  the  grounds 
of  Pontypool  Park  a  quaint  old  ivy-covered  bridge,  which 
tradition  has  handed  down  as  the  original  Bont  o'r  Ap  Hywel. 

Llyfb  Coch. 


i 


WELSH  MEMBEkS  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS 


II. 

Egbert  Earl  of  Oxford. 

"The  family  of  Harley,  of  Salop,"  says  Burke,  "can  be 
traced  to  a  period  antecedent  to  the  Conquest,  and  its  rank  was 
then  so  exalted  that  the  eminent  house  of  Harlai,  in  France, 
deduces  its  origin  from  the  Harleys  of  England."  At  a  later 
period  they  acquired  estates  in  the  county  of  Radnor.  Robert 
Harley  was  the  eldest  son  of  Colonel  Sir  Edward  Harley,  Knt., 
Governor  of  Dunkirk  and  M.P.  for  Radnor,  by  his  second  wife, 
Abigail,  daughter  of  Nathaniel  Stephens,  Esq.,  of  Essington,  in 
the  county  of  Gloucester,  and  was  bom  on  the  5th  of  December, 
1661,  in  Bow-street,  London.  He  received  his  education  at 
Shelton  School,  Oxfordshire,  at  the  same  time  as  the  future 
Lord  Harcourt  and  Lord  Trevor.  Entering  Parliament  in  1689 
for  Tregony  (Cornwall),  he  was  elected  for  the  Radnor  Boroughs 
in  the  following  year,  which  place  he  continued  to  represent 
during  many  Parliaments  till  his  elevation  to  the  Peerage. 
For  some  little  time  he  appears  to  have  avoided  the  bitterness 
of  party  warfare,  and  to  have  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of 
the  ways  and  rules  of  the  House,  for  Bishop  Burnet  speaks  of 
him  as  "  a  man  of  great  industry  and  application,  and  one  who 
had  an  extraordinary  knowledge  of  the  forms  and  records  of 
Parliament."  Mr.  Harley  was  appointed  a  Commissioner  of 
Public  Accounts,  about  whose  duties  little  can  be  gathered 
except  from  the  name,  in  December,  1690.  He  succeeded  to  the 
family  estates  on  the  decease  of  his  father  in  December,  1700. 
On  the  11th  of  February  following  he  was  placed  in  the  Chair 
of  the  House,  and  he  officiated  as  Speaker  during  the  two  last 
Parliaments  of  King  William  III.  and  the  first  of  Queen  Anne. 
Being  now  one  of  the  great  personages  of  the  realm  from  his 
high  official  position,  his  services  were  sought  for  in  more  than 
one  quarter.  In  December,  1701,  he  vras  chosen  arbitrator  for 
uniting  the  two  Indian  Companies,  and  the  next  year  Queen 
Anne  appointed  him  one  of  the  Commissioners  for  treating  of 
a  Union  with  Scotland.  In  the  general  table  of  precedence  the 
Speaker  takes  rank  (by  Statute  1  and  2  William  and  Maiy^ 


WELSH  JIEMBEKS  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS.  541 

cap.  21)  next  after  Barons  of  the  United  Kingdom.  He  is  the 
general  moderator  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Lower  House,  and 
does  not  speak  except  upon  points  of  order,  when  his  opinion 
cannot  be  questioned.  His  salary  has  always  been  high,  but 
the  office  has  differed  much  as  to  its  occupants  within  the  last 
two  hundred  years.  As  will  be  seen,  it  was  usual  to  put  in  the 
chair  either  a  statesman  who  had  filled  great  political  places,  or 
one  who  was  on  the  immediate  road  thereto.  But  the  duties  of 
the  post  soon  became  irksome  to  a  mind  of  such  "restless 
ambition"  as  Mr.  Harley's.  He  had  been  re-chosen  in  December, 
1701,  and  August,  1702;  but  in  April,  1704,  Her  Majesty  was 
graciously  pleased  to  appoint  him  one  of  her  Principal 
Secretaries  of  State,  when  he  took  the  Northern  Department  in 
the  room  of  the  Earl  of  Nottingham,  and  was  sworn  of  the  Privy 
Council.  He  held  the  Speakerl^hip  at  the  same  time,  but  the 
two  offices  proved  too  laborious  and  inconvenient  to  be  filled  by 
one  person,  and  so  at  the  dissolution  of  the  then  existing 
Parliament,  in  April,  1705,  he  quitted  the  Chair.  As  Secretary 
of  State  he  took  a  foremost  position  in  the  Ministry  of 
Godolphin,  and  from  his  official  position  he  became  in  April, 
1706,  one  of  the  Commissioners  who  finally,  and  in  a  great 
degree  owing  to  his  indefatigable  zeal  and  exertions,  brought 
about  the  Union  with  Scotland.  At  this  time  Mr.  Harley,  who 
was  of  a  Presbyterian  family,  was  in  politics  a  Whig,  but 
breaking  with  his  friends  he  suddenly  resigned  office  in 
February,  1708,  and  threw  himself  with  great  ardour  into  the 
ranks  of  the  Tories.  In  the  political  slang  of  his  day  he  was 
known  as  "the  Dragon."  Two  years  of  active  party  strife 
brought  about  the  downfall  of  the  Whigs.  The  country  was 
calling  for  peace,  and  in  August,  1710,  the  Tories  were  admitted 
to  power  with  Earl  Poulett  as  their  nominal  head,  but  the  real 
power  was  in  the  hands  of  Robert  Harley,  now  appointed 
Chancellor  and  Under  Treasurer  of  the  Exchequer,  and  Henry 
St.  John,  Secretary  of  State.  On  the  8th  of  March,  1711,  the 
Marquis  de  Guiscard,  when  under  examination  as  a  French  spy 
before  the  Privy  Council,  suddenly  drew  a  penknife,  and, 
springing  upon  the  Chancellor,  stabbed  him  repeatedly  before 
he  was  himself  cut  down  by  the  horrified  Council.  The  wounds 
were  at  first  believed  mortal,  but  he  recovered,  and  having 
attained  great  popularity  and  influence  throughout  the  country 
by  this  dastardly  attempt  upon  his  life,  was  raised  to  the 
Peerage  as  Earl  of  Oxford  and  Mortimer  24th  May,  1711,  and 
on  the  29th  of  the  same  month  attained  the  height  oif  his 
ambition  on  receiving  from  his  Sovereign's  hands  the  staflF  of 
Lord  High  Treasurer  (salary  £8,000).  He  well  deserved  this — 
the  highest  honour;  he  was  a  most  faithful  and  diligent 
servant  to  his  Queen,  and  his  mode  of  life  gave  him  rank  as 
one  of  the  most  honest  and  upright  men  of  the  day.    His  great 


542  \V^LSH  MEilBEES  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS- 

office  gave  the  twelfth  place  in  precedence  next  after  the  Royal 
Family,  with  the  exception  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury^ 
the  Lord  High  Chancellor,  and  the  Archbidhop  of  York*  To 
kill  the  Treasurer  during  his  execution  of  office  is  high  treason. 
Lord  Oxford  was  (with  the  exception  of  the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury, 
who  succeeded  him^  the  last  High  Treasurer  of  England,  and 
since  1714  the  office  has  always  been  performed  by  the  Com- 
missioners of  the  Treasury.  Honours  now  flowed  swiftly  down 
upon  his  lordship.  In  1708  he  was  created  Gustos  Rotulorum 
of  Radnorshire ;  on  the  26th  of  October,  1711,  he  was  elected 
a  Knight  Companion  of  the  Most  Noble  Order  of  the  Garter, 
and  was  installed  at  Windsor  in  August  following.  The  same 
year  he  was  chosen  Governor  of  the  South  Sea  Company,  of 
which  he  had  been  the  chief  founder  or  regulator ;  and  about 
the  same  time  he  was  also  chosen  one  of  the  Governors  of  the 
Charterhouse.  But  the  year  1714  witnessed  his  fall.  In  July, 
1714,  he  resigned  his  staflF  of  office,  driven  thereto  by  the  dis- 
tractions caused  by  his  powerful  rival.  Lord  Bolingbroke,  who, 
regardless  of  the  Peerage  his  chief  had  obtained  for  him, 
sought  with  a  grasping  hand  the  first  prize  himself.  History 
records  his  merited  failure.  On  the  accession  of  King  George  I. 
the  Tories  and  Jacobites  could  expect  little  favour.  The  great 
services  of  Lord  Oxford  could  not  extricate  him  from  the  ruin 
which  his  vehement  colleagues  had  brought  down  upon  them- 
selves and  their  fellow  Ministers.  On  the  23rd  November  he 
was  superseded  by  Lord  Coningsby  in  his  honorary  position  of 
Steward  of  Melmith  and  "all  other  H.M.'s  Lonlships  in 
Radnorshire."  On  the  1st  October  in  the  same  year  his  name 
was  omitted  in  the  list  of  the  new  Privy  Council;  on  the 
18th  of  December  he  was  superseded  in  his  honour  of  Custos 
Rotulorum  of  Radnorshire  by  Lord  Coningsby,  and  finally, 
on  the  10th  of  June,  1718,  he  was  impeached,  on  the 
motion  of  the  same  noble  lord,  by  the  House  of 
Commons  of  High  Treason,  and  other  high  crimes 
and  misdemeanomrs,  and  thereupon  was  committed  pri- 
soner to  the  Tower,  where  he  continued  three  years,  when,  being 
brought  to  trial  by  his  Peers,  he  was  unanimously  acquitted 
1st  July,  1717.  After  that  he  led  a  very  retired  Ufe  till  his 
death,  which  took  place  on  the  21st  May,  in  the  year  1724* 
His  Lordship  was  twice  married ;  by  his  first  wife,  Elizabeth, 
eldest  daughter  of  Thomas  Foley,  Esq.,  of  Whitley  Court,. 
Worcestershire,  and  sister  to  Thomas,  first  Lord  Foley,  he  had 
issue  one  son,  Edward,  his  successor  in  honour  and  estate,  and 
two  daughters,  Elizabeth,  who  married  the  Marquis  of  Carmar- 
then, afterwards  Duke  of  Leeds,  but  died  in  1711,  and  Abigail, 
married  to  George,  Lord  Duplin,  afterwards  Earl  of  Kinnoul. 
His  second  wife  was  Sarah,  the  daughter  of  Thomas  Middleton,. 
Esq.,  and  granddaughter  of  Sir  Hugh  Middleton,  Bart^  by 


WELSH  MEMBEES  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS.  543 

whom  he  had  no  issue.  The  Countess  of  Oxford  died  in  1737. 
In  conclusion,  the  character  of  Lord  Oxford  will  be  taken  from 
his  contemporaries.  Burnet  calls  him  "eminently  learned, 
but  of  a  very  restless  ambition.  He  could  not  properly  be 
called  eloquent,  but  he  knew  how  to  prevail  in  the  House  of 
Commons  with  few  words  and  strong  reasons."  Dr.  Johnson 
says,  "  Lord  Orford,  who  was,  perhaps,  not  quick  by  nature, 
became  yet  less  so  by  irresolution,  and  was  content  to  hear  that 
dilatoriness  lamented  as  natural  which  he  applauded  in  himself 
as  politic.  He  was  cold,  dry,  cautious,  and  distrustful,  correct 
in  his  morals,  reserved  in  his  conversation,  ready  to  promise 
and  slow  to  fulfil."  A  great  and  generous  patron  of  literature. 
Pope,  in  gratitude,  gives  him  the  sonorous  lines  so  often 
quoted : — 

"  A  soul  supreme,  in  each  hard  instance  tried, 
Above  all  pain,  all  anger,  and  all  pride, 
The  rage  of  power,  the  blast  of  public  breath, 
The  lust  of  lucre,  and  the  dread  of  death." 

The  Historical  Register^  in  its  quaint  style,  thus  sums  up 
his  life  :  "  During  the  time  he  was  Prime  Minister,  he  was 
easy  and  disengag'd  in  private  Conversation,  with  such  a  Weight 
of  Aflfairs  upon  his  shoulders.  He  was  a  Man  of  great  Learning, 
and  as  great  a  Favourer  and  Protector  of  it;  intrepid  by 
Nature,  as  well  as  by  the  Consciousness  of  his  own  Integrity,, 
and  would  have  chosen  rather  to  fall  by  an  Impeachment  than 
to  be  sav'd  by  an  Act  of  Grace :  sagacious  to  view  into  the 
remotest  Consequences  of  Things,  by  which  all  Difficulties  fled 
before  him.  He  was  a  courteous  Neighbour,  a  firm  and 
affectionate  Friend,  and  a  kind,  generous,  and  placable  Enemy, 
sacrificing  his  just  Resentments  not  only  to  publick  Good,  but 
to  common  Intercession  and  Acknowledgment.  He  was  a 
Despiser  of  Money,  and,  what  is  yet  most  rare,  an  uncorrupt 
Minister  of  State."  Lord  Oxford  was  succeeded  by  his  eldest 
son,  Edward,  Lord  Harley,  Knight  of  the  Shire  for  the  County 
of  Cambridge. 

Sir  John  Powell. 

This  excellent  Judge  was  bom  at  Gloucester,  which  city  he 
represented  in  Parliament  from  1685  to  1686.  In  April,  1686,. 
he  was  knighted,  created  a  Serjeant-at-Law,  and  appointed  a 
Puisne  Justice  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas.  In  April,  1687, 
he  was  transferred  to  the  King's  Bench,  but  in  July,  1688, 
when  he  refused  the  oflFer  of  the  Lord  Chancellorship,  he  was 
dismissed  for  declaring  against  the  dispensing  power  on  the 
occasion  of  the  Trial  of  the  Seven  Bishops  (among  whom  was 
the  Bishop  of  St.  David's).  In  March,  1689,  King  WiUiam  III. 
granted  him  a  fresh  patent  as  one  of  the  Justices  of  the 
Common  Bench  (or  Pleas),  and  in  June,  1702,  Queen  Anne 


^44  WELSH  MEMBEKS  OF  FORMEK  ADSONISTRATIONa 

again  placed  him  in  the  Court  of  Banco  Regis  (Queen's  Bench). 
This  position,  the  salary  of  which  was  about  £1,200  a  year,  he 
occupied  till  his  decease  on  the  14th  of  June,  1713.  His 
Lordship  was  never  married.  "  He  is  an  old  fellow  with  grey 
hair,"  said  Swift,  "  the  merriest  old  gentleman  I  ever  saw,  spoke 
pleasant  things,  and  chuckled  till  he  cried  again."  Sir  John 
once  tried  a  woman  for  witchcraft,  the  accusation  against  the 
prisoner  being  for  flying.  He  asked  her, "  Can  you  fly  ?"  "  Yes, 
my  lord,"  she  answered.  "  Very  well,  then,"  he  said,  ^  you 
may  ;  there  is  no  law  against  it."  Sir  John,  in  his  youth,  was 
a  pupil  of  Jeremy  Taylor. 

SiK  Littleton  Powts. 

Thomas  Powys,  of  Henley,  Shropshire,  a  Serjeant-at-Law,  and 
Bencher  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  had  by  his  first  wife.  Mistress  Anne, 
daughter  of  Sir  Adam  Littleton,  Bart.,  of  Stoke  Milburgh, 
Shropshire,  two  sons — Littleton  and  Thomas,  who  both  in  after 
life  assumed  the  ermine.  The  eldest  son,  Littleton,  was  bom 
in  1647,  and  became  Puisne  Justice  of  Chester  in  1689.  In 
April,  1692,  he  was  created  a  Serjeant-at-Law,  and  in  October, 
1695,  was  knighted  and  appointed  a  Baron  of  the  Exchequer. 
He  was  transferred  to  the  Court  of  King's  Bench  in  January, 
1700,  and  sat  there  for  twenty-five  years.  He  retired  from  the 
Bench  at  the  great  age  of  84,  in  October,  1725,  and  died 
soon  after. 

Sir  Thomas  Powys. 

Brother  of  the  above,  and  bom  about  the  year  1650.  He 
became  Solicitor-General  in  1686,  and  Attorney-General  the 
following  year,  but  in  1688  his  patent  was  not  renewed. 
However,  he  was  created  one  of  His  Majesty's  Serjeants-at-Law 
by  King  William  III.,  and  be  was  continued  as  Queen's  Serjeant 
in  the  next  reign.  In  June,  1713,  he  became  a  Justice  of  the 
Court  of  Queen's  Bench,  but  his  patent  lapsed  on  the  death  of 
the  Queen,  and  he  was  removed  from  his  post  by  George  I.  in 
October,  1714.  On  his  elevation  to  the  Bench  he  was 
knighted,  and  from  1714  till  his  death,  4th  of  April,  1719,  he 
was  King's  First,  or  Prime,  Serjeant,  and  Recorder  of  Ludlow. 
He  married  Sarah,  the  daughter  of  Ambrose  Holbeck,  Esq.,  of 
Mollington,  Warwickshire,  by  whom  he  had  three  sons  and 
three  daughters.  He  purchased,  in  1711,  the  manor  of  Lilford, 
in  Northamptonshire,  and  his  great  grandson  was  created  Baron 
Lilford  in  1797. 

Slmon,  Viscount  Harcourt. 

His  Lordship's  family  was  of  very  ancient  origin  and  of 
Norman  extraction.    He  was  bom  in  the  year  1660,  and  was 


WELSH  MEMBERS  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS.  545 

the  son  of  Sir  Simon  Harcourt,  Knight,  of  Stanton  Harcourt, 
Oxon    (sometime    M.P.    for   that  county),   by  his  lady,  the 
daughter  of  Sir  William  Waller.      Having  received  his  early 
education  at  Shelton  School,  in  his  native  shire,  he  proceeded  to 
Pembroke  College,  Oxford,  and  having  graduated,  he  adopted 
the  legal  profession,  and  was  in  due  course  called  to  the  Bar 
of  the  Inner  Temple.     At  the  general  election   of    1690  he 
was  returned  to  Parliament  for  Abingdon,  which  he  represented 
till    1705,  when   he  transferred    his    services    to  the   pocket 
borough  of  Bossiney,  in  Cornwall.     In  the  House  his  power 
became  soon  felt.     "  He  had,"  says  Speaker  Onslow,  "  greater 
skill  and  power  of  speech  than  any  man  I  ever  knew."     On 
June   1st,  1702,  on  the  accession  of   Queen  Anne,  he  joined 
the  Whig  Administration   of    Lord    Godolphin    as    Solicitor- 
General,  and  thereupon  received  the  honour  of  knighthood  at  the 
hands  of  his  Sovereign.     Sir   Simon  was  one  of  the  Commis- 
sioners for  the  Union  with  Scotland,  in  April,  1706,  and  on  the 
25th  April,  in  the  following  year,  he  succeeded  Mr.  Northey, 
who  resigned,  as  first  Law  Officer  of  the  Crown.     In   October, 
1708,   Sir  Simon  quitted  his    post   of  Attorney-General   and 
joined  the   Tories  in  Opposition,    and  consequently   on  their 
return  to  power  he  resumed  his  position  18th  September,  1710. 
At  the  general  election  of  1708  occurred  the  incident  to  which 
Sir  Simon  owes  his  only  connection  with  Wales.     Quitting  his 
seat  at  Bossiney  in  that  year,  he  was  again  returned  for  Abing- 
don, but  the  election  was  declared  void.     Out  of  Parliament 
he  remained,  however,  but  a  few  weeks  ;  a  vacancy  had  occurred 
in  the  representation  of  the  Cardigan  Boroughs,  their  member 
(Lewis  Pryse,  Esq. )  being  elected  for  county  and  borough,  and 
electing  to  sit  for  the  county,  a  seat  was  thus  found  for  Sir 
Simon.     He  sat  for  Cardigan  but  two  years,  and  in  the  October 
of  1710  returned  to  Abingdon,  for  which  he  sat  till  the  follow- 
ing December,  when  he  appears  to  have  left  the  Lower  House. 
His  second  tenure  of  the  Attorney-Generalship  was  but  three 
weeks,  for  the  Great  Seal  having  during  that  period  been  in 
commission,  was  on  the  9th  of  October,   1710,  placed  in  the 
hands  of  Sir  Simon  Harcourt,  with  the  title  of  Ix)rd  Keeper. 
In  September,  1711,  he  was  created  Baron  Harcourt,  and  on 
the  7th  of  April  following.  Her  Majesty  was  pleased  to  re-deliver 
the  Great  Seal  into  his  custody  with  the  higher  appellation  of 
Lord  High  Chancellor.     These  offices  are  very  similar  in  all  but 
the  name ;  the  statute  5  Eliz.,  c.  18,  declared  the  authority  of 
the  Chancellor  to  be  exactly  the  same  as  that  of  Lord  Keeper. 
The  mere  delivery  of  the  Great  Seal  into  his  custody  constitutes 
him  Lord  Keeper,   but  as  Lord  Chancellor  he  receives  letters 
patent  in  addition.     Even  though  not  a  Peer,  he  presides  in  the 
House  of  Lords;  but  the  general  nature  of  his  duties  is  too 

K  K 


546  WELSH  ilEMBEKS  OF  FORilER  ADMINISTEATIONS- 

widely  known  to  desen'e  particular  mention  here.      In   Lord 
Harcourt's  time  the  nominal  salary  was  about  i:^848,  but  the 
perquisites,  fees,  and  patronage  were  enormous.     His  Lordship 
took  an  active  part  in  the  Tory  Administration  of  1711  to  1714, 
and  was  a  firm  supjjorter  of  Lord  Oxford.     On  the  accession  of 
George  L,  his  Lordship,  who,  the  preceding  month,  had  been 
appointed  one  of  the  Lords  Justices  of  the  Realm  during  the 
interval  between  the  Queen's  decease  and  the  arrival  of   the 
King,  resigned  his  important  trust.     This  was  in  September,. 
1714;     and    on   a   fresh   Privy   Council    being    sworn.    Lord 
Harcourt,  who   had  been  added  to  its  number  in  September, 
1710,  saw,  without  surprise,  his  name  omitted.     But  time  doea 
much,  even  in  politics,  and  so  he  was  raised  to  the  rank  of  a 
Viscount    in    July,    1721,    was    again    sworn    of    the    Privy 
Council   August,    1722,  and  executed  the  duties  of   a    Lord 
Justice  of  the  Kingdom  during  the  absence  of   His  Majesty  in 
his  German  Dominions,  from  July  to  December,  1723,  and  from 
June   to  December,   1725,  and  again  was  appointed  in  May,. 
1727,  on  the  death  of  George  I.,  until  the  arrival  in  England 
of  George  II.  the  following  month.     On  the  29th  of  July,  in 
the  same  year.  Lord  Harcourt  died.     He  had  been  married  three 
times  :  First,  to  Rebecca,  daughter  of  Thomas  Clarke,  Esq.,  and 
widow   of  Sir   Simon   Astry,   Knight,    by  whom   he  had  five 
children — Philip  and  Walter,  who  died  young,  Anne,  married 
to  John  Barlow,  Esq.,  of  Pembrokeshire,  Arabella,  and  Simon^ 
his  successor  in  the  peerage.    His   second  lady  was  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  Richard  Spencer,  Esq.,  of  Derbyshire,  and  relict  of 
Mr.  Anderson ;   and  his  third  was  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Sir 
Thomas    Vernon,    of   Twickenham,   and    widow  of    Sir    John 
Walter,  Bart.,  of  Saresdon,  Oxfordshire,  by  neither  of  whom 
had  he  issue.     Lord  Harcoiirt,  who  had  been  created  a  D.C.L^ 
of  Oxford  in  1702,  is  thus  mentioned  by  Parkes: — "He  was 
remarkable  for  nothing  but  his  abilities,  which  were  very  great, 
and  his  integrity." 

Hugh  Valence  Jones. 

The  brother  of  John  Jones,  Esq.,  of  Merionethshire,  and 
nephew,  maternally,  of  the  Earl  of  Hardwicke.  For  some  years 
Mr.  Jones  was  one  of  the  Under-Secretaries  of  State  to  the 
Duke  of  Newcastle,  and  when  his  Grace  became  First  Lord 
of  the  Treasury,  in  April,  1754,  he  was  appointed  his  Private 
Secretary.  He  is  mentioned  by  Wali)ole  as  "  the  Duke  of  New- 
castle's favourite  secretary,"  and  that  nobleman  bestowed  upon 
him  the  reversion  of  the  office  of  Comptroller-General  of  the 
Customs.  Mr.  Jones  was  elected  for  Dover  in  May,  1766,  in 
the  room  of  Peter  Biurell,  Esq.,  deceased,  and  in  the  November 
following  his  post    of   Private  Secretary    terminated   on  the 


WELSH  MEMBEES  OF  FORMER  ADMINISTRATIONS.  547 

resigDation  of  the  Duke.  He  quitted  Parliament  in  June, 
1759,  on  being  appointed  one  of  the  Commissioners  of  the 
Revenue  in  Ireland,  and  this  office  he  retained  till  the  year 
1772,  when  he  resigned  it.  A  few  years  afterwards  his  reversion 
in  the  Customs  fell  into  his  possession,  and  that  lucrative  position 
he  enjoyed  till  his  decease  in  January,  1800. 

John  Williams. 

Many  years  a  Commissioner  of   Taxes  (£500  per  annum)^ 
but  resigned  that  appointment  in  November,  1735. 

Thomas  Evans 

Was  appointed  an  Equerry-in-Ordinary  to  the  King  (salary 
£300)  on  the  17th  of  July,  1771. 


K  K  2 


NOTES   ON   SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 


The  exteDsive  emigration  tliat  is  now  going  on  from  England 
leads  me  to  think  that  the  observations  of  a  settler  in  a  *'  far 
count ree,"  together  with  facts  and  figures  gleaned  on  the  spot, 
would  be  of  interest  to  such  of  your  English  readers  as  find  that 
the  battle  of  life  in  the  old  country  is  too  hard  for  them,  and 
the  competitors  for  the  prizes  of  wealth  too  many. 

English  capital  and  English  energy  have  pushed  their  way  to 
all  quarters  of  the  globe  ;  but  not  until  a  few  years  ago  have  the 
United  States  attracted  much  attention.  The  reason  that  few 
of  the  better  class  have  settled  in  the  States,  is,  I  take  it,  that 
the  English  gentleman  clings  to  his  old  ideas  and  tastes,  sj^orts 
and  pastimes,  and  lines  of  thought,  and  therefore  chooses  one 
of  our  own  colonies  as  a  field  for  his  laboin-s.  Our  own  colonies 
are,  however,  getting  worked  out;  or  those  which  still  afford 
chances  for  small  capital  are  of  a  climate  that  necessitates  the 
undergoing  of  great  hardships.  Therefore,  the  rapid  onward 
march  of  the  great  United  States  is  attracting  many  English- 
men— as  well  as  emigrants  from  all  other  nations — to  follow 
in  its  train,  or  rather  to  join  the  army  of  progression.  America 
welcomes  all  nations  with  fervour,  because  she  has  lands  to 
«ell — except  only  the  heathen  Chinee,  who  has  no  money  with 
which  to  buy  lands. 

Much  harm  has  been  done  by  misrepresentations,  especially 
by  agents  in  England,  who  undertake  to  place  gentlemen's  sons 
in  comfortable  quarters  with  American  farmers.  The  gentle- 
man's son  goes  out  with  ideas  of  the  freedom  of  the  life,  and  the 
sport  to  be  had,  having,  in  fact,  formed  his  opinion  from  the  farm 
life  he  has  observed  in  England.  His  burning  ardour  is  cooled 
when  he  gets  West  by  being  put  to  feed  the  pigs.  His  companion 
"  help,"  perhaps,  is  an  escaped  convict,  his  master  sharp  and 
vulgar,  and  his  whole  life  a  misery.     He  goes  back  disgusted. 

It  is  impossible  to  get  any  accm^te  idea  of  districts  or  lands 
for  sale  at  second  hand,  because  the  descriptions  that  reach 
England  are  generally  from  interested  persons.  All  the 
advantages  of  tne  situation  are  highly  coloured,  and  the  disad- 
vantages, if  allowed  to  appear  at  aU,  are  in  the  dim  back- 


NOTES  ON  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA.  549 

ground.  Of  the  portion  of  the  globe  of  which  I  am  writing — 
namely,  Southern  California — I  intend  to  put  before  my  readers 
the  advantages,  which  are  many,  and  the  disadvantages,  which 
are  not  a  few.  They  can  then  form  opinions  for  themselves, 
and  will,  I  hope,  acquit  me  of  any  interested  motive. 

Kansas  is  now  the  centre  of  attraction  for  the  purely  agricul- 
tural interest.  The  opening  up  of  the  State  by  the  advent  of 
the  Atchison,  Topeka  and  Santa  Fe  Railroad,  has  brought  it 
into  prominence.  Some  of  the  lands  are  exceedingly  good  and 
fertile,  and  require  no  manure.  For  those  who  are  fond  of 
variety,  the  climate  will  offer  a  pleasing  matter  for  obser\'ation. 
I  passed  through  Topeka  on  March  14th,  1882.  The 
thermometer  stood  at  about  90^  in  the  shade,  and  there  was  still 
a  little  snow  on  the  ground,  the  remains  of  a  heavy  fall  that  had 
occurred  but  a  few  days  before.  It  was  curious  to  feel  the 
burning  heat  and  see  all  the  trees  leafless. 

As  a  rule,  English  farmers  do  not  do  well  in  America.  In 
England  land  is  dear  and  labour  cheap ;  in  America  land  is 
cheap  and  labour  dear.  This  revolution  of  affairs  for  which 
they  are  not  prepared  is  probably  the  cause  of  their  ill  success. 
Throughout  all  parts  of  the  States  money  is  to  be  made, 
provided  always  that  the  would-be  manufacturer  is  industrious. 
Those,  therefore,  whose  one  end  and  aim  is  the  acquirement 
of  the  almighty  dollar,  I  would  advise  to  lose  no  time,  but 
oome  and  reap  the  harvest  ripening  for  the  scythe — or  rather 
the  reaping  machine,  for  scythes  are  out  of  date.  But  to  those 
that  can  eke  out  an  honourable  existence  at  home,  I  say 
l)ause  before  you  leave  the  little  island  in  the  sea,  that  all  the 
(iays  of  your  life  you  will  long  to  look  upon  again. 

The  following  are  the  words  of  Anthony  Trollope,  which  the 
would-be  emigrant  should  consider  well : — "  We  are  all  apt 
to  think  that  a  life  in  strange  countries  will  be  a  life  of 
excitement,  of  stirring  enterprise,  and  varied  scenes ;  that 
in  abandoning  the  comforts  of  home,  we  shall  receive  more 
of  movement  and  of  adventure  than  would  come  in  our  way 
in  our  own  tame  country ;  and  this  feeling  has,  I  am  sure, 
sent  many  a  young  man  roaming.  Take  any  spirited  fellow 
of  twenty,  and  ask  him  if  he  would  like  to  go  to  Mexico 
for  the  next  ten  years.  Prudence  and  his  father  may  ultimately 
save  him  from  such  banishment,  but  he  will  not  refuse  without 
a  pang  of  regret.  Alas !  It  is  a  mistake.  Bread  may  be 
earned,  and  fortunes,  jjerhaps,  made  in  such  countries ;  and  as 
it  is  the  destiny  of  our  race  to  spread  itself  over  the  wide  face  of 
the  globe,  it  is  well  that  there  should  be  something  to  gild  and 
paint  the  outward  face  of  that  lot  which  so  many  are  called  upon 
to  choose.  But  for  a  life  of  daily  excitement,  there  is  no  life 
like  life  in  England ;  and  the  further  that  one  goes  from 
England  the  more  stagnant,  I  think,  do  the  waters  of  existence 


650  NOTES  ON  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

become.  But  if  so  for  men,  it  is  ten  times  more  so  for  women. 
An  Englishman,  if  he  be  at  (fuatemala  or  Belize,  must  work  for 
liis  bread,  and  that  work  will  find  him  in  thought  and  excite- 
ment. But  what  of  his  wife  ?  Where  will  she  find  excitement  ? 
By  what  pursuit  will  she  repay  he^elf  for  all  she  has  left  behind 
her  at  her  mother's  fireside  ?  She  will  love  her  husband.  Yes ; 
that  at  least.  If  there  be  not  that,  there  will  be  a  hell  indeed. 
Then  she  will  talk  of  her  home.  When  the  time  shall  come 
that  her  promised  return  thither  is  within  a  year  or  two  of  its 
accomplishment,  her  thoughts  will  all  be  fixed  on  that  coming 
pleasure,  as  are  the  thoughts  of  a  young  girl  on  her  first  ball 
for  the  fortnight  before  that  event  comes  otf." 

How  true  these  words  are  the  exile  will  probably  discover 
only  after  he  has  left  home,  with  no  possibility  of  return  for 
many  years.  Then  it  will  become  clear  to  him  what  a  beautiful 
<jountry  he  has  left  behind  in  the  little  island  washed  by  the 
Atlantic  and  the  North  Sea.  The  land  of  smiling  hedgerows, 
of  green  meadows,  of  wooded  vales  and  rich  pastures.  The  land 
of  placid  rivers  flowing  by  many  a  quiet  hamlet,  many  a  peaceful 
church  ivy-clad  and  nestling  in  the  trees,  many  a  jwitch  of 
waving  bulrushes  and  overhanging  foliage,  many  a  shallow 
pebbjy  reach,  where  the  cattle  stand  knee  deep.  The  land  of 
ancient  moss  grown  castles,  some  defying  the  ravages  of  time, 
and  some  crumbling  in  decay,  but  all  enveloped  in  a  certain 
mystic  glamour  suggestive  of  brilliant  pageants  and  dark  deeds 
in  troublous  times  long  gone  by.  The  land  whose  climate  and 
the  softening  hand  of  time  have  made  it  a  pleasant  resting  place, 
and  the  envy  of  the  world. 

If,  therefore,  you  appreciate  the  beauties  of  nature ;  if  you  can 
enjoy  the  refinements  of  life  ;  if  you  are  fond  of  sport ;  if  you 
care  for  the  luxuries  of  society ;  if  you  wish  to  crowd  the 
greatest  possible  amount  of  excitement  into  the  least  possible 
space  of  time,  and  at  the  least  ^wssible  cost ;  do  not  cross  the 
Atlantic.  If  you  are  alive  to  none  of  these  influences,  the 
feeding  of  swine  and  the  associating  with  American  farmers 
will  not  cause  you  much  uneasiness.  But  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  these  things  are  as  the  very  breath  of  your  nostrils,  but 
you  have  not  the  means  of  enjoying  them  where  you  are ; 
why,  try  to  eradicate  all  your  old  traditional  ideas  and  lines 
of  thought,  forget  the  observances  and  unwritten  laws  that 
have  come  down  to  you  through  centuries ;  take  a  berth  on 
board  one  of  the  Cunard  steamers — because  they  are  slow  but 
sure — and  come  **  right  west^"  avoiding  the  Southern  Pacific 
route,  because  it  runs  through  a  desert  for  several  days,  and 
might  depress  you.  I  heard  a  story  illustrative  of  the  "  slow 
but  sure  "  policy  of  the  Cunard  Line.  This  was  before  the 
**  Servia "  was  built.  A  passenger  on  one  of  the  steamers 
asked  the   smoking-room    steward  to  bring  him  a  bottle  of 


NOTES  OX  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA.  551 

«oda-water.  The  steward  departed  slowly  and  returned  in  the 
course  of  half-an-hour,  and  said :  "  We  have  no  soda-water,  sir ; 
but  the  Cunard  Line  never  lost  a  passenger." 

California,  to  the  majority  of  English  people,  presents  the  idea 
of  gold.  That  gold  was  found  there,  and  that  six-shooters, 
liquor  saloons,  and  the  scum  of  all  nations  followed  as  a  natural 
consequence,  are  matters  of  history.  With  these  features  of  the 
country,  the  incredible  stories  of  Bret  Harte  have  made  us 
familiar.  But  the  old  wild  days  are  i>ast  and  gone;  mining 
companies  and  crushing  mills  have  taken  the  place  of  the  digger 
and  his  "  pardner."  Not  so  long  ago,  however,  a  friend  of  mine 
had  an  unpleasant  experience  of  the  method  that  was  commonly 
in  use  of  enforcing  an  argument.  He  was  a  peaceably  dispos^ 
person,  and  was  travelling  by  stage.  They  stopped  at  an  out- 
of-the-way  resting  place,  and  he  went  into  a  bar  and  asked  for 
some  St.  Louis  beer,  which  then  was  famous. 

"  This  isn't  St.  Louis  beer,"  he  said  to  the  barman,  after 
tasting  the  filthy  decoction  brought  to  him. 

"  It  is,"  said  the  barman,  without  needless  waste  of  words. 

"  But  I  know  this  isn't  St.  Ix)uis  beer." 

"  I  say  that's  St.  Ijouis  beer,"  said  the  barman,  in  a  calm  but 
persistent  tone. 

«  And  I  say  it  isn't ! " 

The  barman  slowly  reached  below  the  counter,  withdrew  his 
hand  quickly,  and  presenting  a  six-shooter,  said,  in  the  same 
persistent  tone :  "  I  say  that's  St.  Louis  beer  I " 

The  argument  was  sufficiently  convincing. 

California  is  called  in  America  the  Golden  State,  quite  as 
much  on  account  of  the  wonderful  productiveness  of  the  soil 
and  climate  as  from  the  fact  that  gold  is  found  in  it.  Here  is 
a  picture  painted  by  the  Hon.  J.  F.  Miller,  in  a  speech  in 
the  Senate,  anent  the  Chinese  question  : — "  The  land  which  is 
being  over-run  by  the  Oriental  invader  is  the  fairest  portion 
of  our  heritage.  It  is  the  land  of  the  vine  and' the  fig-tree  ; 
the  home  of  the  orange  and  the  olive  and  the  pomegranate. 
Its  Winter  is  a  perpetual  Spring,  and  its  Summer  is  a  golden 
harvest.  There  the  northern  pine  peacefully  sways  against 
the  southern  palm,  the  tender  azalea  and  the  hardy  rose 
mingle  their  sweet  perfume,  and  the  tropic  vine  encircles 
the  sturdy  oak.  Its  valleys  are  rich  and  glorious,  with  luscious 
firuit  and  waving  grain ;  and  its  lofty 

" '  Mountains  like  giants  stand 
To  sentinel  th'  enchanted  land.* . 

"  I  would  see,"  he  continues  "its  fertile  plains, its  sequestered 
vales,  its  vine-clad  hills,  its  deep  blue  canons,  its  furrowed 
mountain  sides,  dotted   all   over   with  American   houses,  the 


552  NOTES  ON  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

homes  of  a  free  happy  people,  resonant  with  the  sweet  songs  of 
flaxen-haired  children,  and  ringing  with  the  joyous  laughter  of 
maiden  fair, 

*"Soft  as  her  clime  and  sunny  as  her  skies,' 

like  the  homes  of  New  England;  yet  brighter  and  better  far 
shall  be  the  homes  which  are  to  be  builded  in  that  wonderful 
land  by  the  sunset  sea,  the  homes  of  a  race  that  shall  spring 

"  *  The  flower  of  men. 
To  serve  as  model  for  the  mighty  world, 
And  be  the  fair  beginning  of  a  time.' '' 

Now  this  is  a  very  characteristic  American  speech:  gross 
exaggeration,  without  absolute  untruth.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
pines  and  palms  do  not  sway  against  each  other,  though  if  you 
planted  them  together  and  watered  them  continually,  such 
would  be  the  result — and  very  absurd  their  juxtaposition  would 
make  them  appear.  Nor,  as  a  rule,  do  roses  and  azaleas  mingle 
their  sweet  perfume.  Certainly  the  wild  vine  encircles  the 
sturdy  oak.  Why,  cert'nly,  and  kills  it !  Again,  the  "  maiden 
fair"  of  the  United  States  is  as  far  removed  from  softness 
in  any  sense  as  any  creature  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  Also 
the  idea  of  some  of  the  present  inhabitants  representing  **  the 
flower  of  men,"  is  calculated  to  affect  the  risible  muscles 
of  a  cat. 

Yet  in  spite  of  all  this,  California  is  a  wonderful  country,  and 
the  fertility  of  the  soil — when  water  can  be  brought  to  it — 
almost  exceeds  belief.  What  would  an  English  farmer,  with 
his  limited  nine  inches  or  a  foot  that  he  preserves  with  manure, 
say  to  soil  thirty  feet  deep  ?  Yet  there  is  often  observable  in 
the  valleys,  an  alluvial  deposit  of  from  thirty  to  forty  feet  deep, 
consisting  of  decayed  granite  and  other  matter.  By  the  band 
of  man,  with  the  help  of  water,  "  howling  wildernesses " — 
and  how  howling  it  is  almost  impossible  for  an  Englishman  to 
imagine — have  been  transformed  into  productive  valleys. 

And  now,  after  this  somewhat  lengthy  preliminary  canter,  I 
come  back  to  the  starting  point  of  my  subject — Fruit  Growing 
in  Southern  California.  Fruit  growing  here  holds  out  many 
inducements  to  the  investor.  There  is  little  risk  attending 
it ;  the  profits  are  large  and  certain,  and  increasing  every  year  ; 
the  work  is  light  and  easy,  and  unattended  by  the  drudgery 
of  ordinary  farm  labour ;  there  is  great  freedom  in  the  life, 
without  isolation ;  the  capital  required  keeps  out  the  ordinary 
labouring  classes;  horses  are  necessary,  and  cost  little  to  keep; 
and  the  climate  is  exceedingly  healthy,  and  not  unbearably  hot 
in  the  Summer,  as  is  the  case  in  Florida.  On  the  other  hand, 
some  time  must  elapse  before  any  return  for  the  capital 
invested  is  experienced  ;   articles  of  food  are  inferior,  especially 


NOTES  ON  SOUTHEEN  CALIFORNIA.  553^ 

meat :  the  butchers  say  all  the  best  beef  goes  to  England  :  and 
to  an  Englishman  the  society  as  a  rule — of  course  there  are 
exceptions — is  not  as  good  as  he  has  been  accustomed  to; 
though  I  must  state  this  is  not  the  opinion  of  the  inhabitants  ; 
and  there  is  an  absence  of  excitement  of  any  kind.  I  cannot, 
therefore,  but  think  that  if  you  must  emigrate  somewhere,  no 
better  place  can  be  found  than  Southern  California.  The 
fruit '  that  stands  pre-eminent  is  the  orange,  on  account  of 
the  large  profits  it  brings  in,  and  the  ease  with  which  it  is- 
handled,  packed,  and  gathered. 

People  who  buy  the  best  Mediterranean  oranges  at  a  penny 
each  in  England,  will  have  some  difficulty  in  comprehending 
how  their  production  in  California  can  be  so  profitable.  Out 
April  22nd  of  this  year,  Messrs.  Hixson,  Justi  &  Co.,  fruit  sales- 
men  at  San  Francisco,  wrote  to  Mr.  A.  T.  Twogood,  informing^ 
him  that  one  box,  containing  sixty-three  oranges  of  his  produc- 
tion, sold  at  the  rate  of  $7o  per  thousand,  or  7^  cents  apiece^ 
equal  to  about  3Jd.  Oranges  grown  at  Riverside  have,  I 
believe,  never  sold  for  less  than  5  cents  a])iece  At  present  the 
principal  market  is  San  Francisco,  but  with  increased  railway 
accommodation  the  Californian  orange —superior,  as  it  is, 
to  all  other  varieties — will  be  eagerly  sought  after  in  all  parts- 
of  the  United  States.  The  oranges  that  now  fetch  the  highest 
prices  in  New  York  are  grown  in  Plorida  and  Jamaica, 
the  Jamaica  ones  being  passed  off  as  Floridas.  They 
attain  a  large  size,  but  are  sweet  and  insipid  in  flavour^ 
The  peculiarity  of  the  Californian  orange  is  the  character 
of  its  flavour,  impossible  to  describe,  but  easy  to  recognise  when 
tasted.  Vines  and  apricot  trees  bring  in  a  return  sooner  than 
oranges.  Anyone  coming  to  California  at  the  present  time  can 
grow  fruit  with  very  little  risk  of  loss.  No  ser\'ing  of  an  apprentice- 
ship is  necessary.  The  industry  to  any  extent  is  of  compara- 
tively recent  birth  ;  and  the  orcliardists  are  just  beginning  to 
understand  the  culture  in  all  its  bearings.  They  have  made 
many  mistakes  in  the  past,  and  a  new  settler,  starting  with  the 
benefit  of  all  their  dearly  acquired  knowledge — which  they  will 
impart  to  him  with  a  kindness  and  patience  that  will  surprise 
him — will,  in  the  long  run,  be  but  little  behind  those  who  have 
been  toiling  for  years.  Budded  orange  trees — that  is,  trees 
produced  by  grafting  a  bud  on  to  a  seedling  stock — ^bear  a 
profitable  crop  the  fifth  year,  or  four  years  and  three-quart ers^ 
from  the  time  of  planting.  Seedling  trees  take  a  considerably 
longer  time  to  become  productive.  The  crop  increases  every 
year,  and  at  present,  in  the  States,  there  is  no  known  limit  to 
the  increase.  In  Colonel  Hill's  grove,  in  Florida,  one  of  the 
oldest,  one  tree  alone  produces  from  6,000  to  8,000  oranges  per 
year,  or  a  net  profit  of  SI 20  and  upwards. 


5.34  NOTES  ON  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

Riverside,  1882. 
The  most  formidable  enemy  to  the  Orange  is  the  red  scale. 
This  destructive  pest  is  a  small  insect  something  in  sliaj^  like 
a  limpet,  the  largest  specimens  being  about  jV  of  an  inch  in 
diameter.  It  is  of  a  brown  colour,  with  a  red  spot  in  the  centre. 
It  was  first  introduced  into  Southern  California — so  it  is 
generally  supposed — through  the  medium  of  some  nursery  trees 
that  were  imported  from  Australia.  Since  its  introduction — 
being  of  a  pushing  disposition — it  has  lost  no  time  in  making 
itself  generally  known,  much  to  the  disgust  of  its  new  acquaint- 
ances. It  attacks  the  limbs  and  leaves  of  the  trees,  and  to  its 
ravages  the  trees  gradually  succumb.  Tliis  fearful  destroyer  in 
a  short  time  will  render  worthless  the  labour  of  years.  At 
present  no  practicable  remedy  is  known.  The  whole  of  Ijos 
Angelos  county  is  more  or  less  infested  with  the  plague  ;  but, 
up  to  the  present  time,  San  Bernardino  county  has  escaped. 
It  is  supposed  that  the  dry  atmosphere  of  the  Riverside  Valley, 
together  with  the  coldness  of  the  nights,  are  unfavourable 
conditions  for  the  growth  of  the  insect.  It  is  an  established  fact 
that  the  black  scale  entirely  disappears  here.  On  the  principle, 
however,  that  prevention  is  better  than  cure,  a  meeting  of 
property  holders  was  called  for  April  18th,  to  take  such  steps  as 
were  possible  to  prevent  some  six  persons  from  bringing  young 
trees  from  a  settlement  called  Orange,  in  which  the  red  scale 
has  made  its  home.  The  season  for  planting  young  orange 
trees  is  April  and  May ;  and  as  late  as  April  18th  no  trees  that 
had  not  been  previously  engaged  could  be  bought.  In  the 
absence,  therefore,  of  any  previously  expressed  collective  opinion 
of  the  settlers,  their  request  that  the  trees  from  Orange 
should  not  be  brought  to  Riverside  was  unreasonable.  The 
injustice  of  it  is  apparent  to  the  meanest  capacity.  However, 
squeamish  feelings  of  justice  do  not  affect  settlers  in  the  far- 
west  when  their  interests  are  concerned.  As  I  was  one  of  the 
delinquents,  I  attended  the  meeting.  The  principal  prospective 
sinner,  that  is  to  say  the  gentleman  (by  the  way,  we  are  all 
gentlemen  here.  If  you  go  and  enquire  for  a  carpenter  to  do 
an  odd  job,  the  "boss"  will  say,  "  I  guess  this  gentleman  will 
fix  it  up  for  you,"  indicating  one  of  his  men,)  who  intended  to 
import  the  greatest  number  of  trees,  had  a  praiseworthy  anxiety 
to  stand  well  with  his  neighbours.  He  had  outrun  public 
•opinion,  and  it  was  necessary  to  make  a  graceful  double.  When 
asked  to  give  his  opinion,  he  said :  "  Gentlemen,  I  have 
determined  not  to  bring  in  any  trees  from  Orange.  I  have 
been  there  and  examined  the  'orchards.  There  is  a  great  deal 
of  red  scale.  They  can't  get  rid  of  it,  and,  in  consequence,  are 
not  planting  any  more  land  to  oranges!  Gentlemen,  I  say 
Orange  is  doomed ! ! "  This  last  sentence,  uttered  in  a  loud 
^nd  impressive  voice,  brought  down  the  house.     It  was  a  great 


NOTES  ON  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA.  555 

stroke  of  jx)licy.  It  gave  a  st^b  to  a  rival  settlement.  Tliis 
was  the  key-note  of  the  subsecjuent  proceedings.  Exultant 
speeches  followed.  We  said,  "  Lo  I  the  Lord  has  delivered 
Orange  into  our  hands  !  Let  us  finish  it  off."  And  so  we  did. 
Then  we  hugged  ourselves  and  repeated  the  war  cries  of  our 
own  settlement.  "  Riverside  has  no  red  scale ;  all  other 
colonies  have  it.  Our  climate  is  salubrious,  our  nights  are 
•cold ;  a  gentle  breeze  blows  every  afternoon  ;  our  fruit  is  the 
best  produced ;  we  are  *  high-toned,'  we  are  *  elegant ! '  Bully 
for  Riverside  ! ! " 

{To  he  continued.) 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS. 


Proper  Pride ^  which  is  a  fairly  well  written  novel,  should 
have  been  christened  "  Improper  Pride,"  "  Stupid  Pride,'* 
"  Childish  Pride,"  in  short  any  other  pride  than  Proper  Pride. 
It  is  a  story  of  a  couple  of  silly  young  fools,  who,  after  marry- 
ing in  haste,  had  plenty  of  leisure  for  repentance.  The  heroine 
is  beautiful  and  rich,  the  hero  handsome,  the  possessor  of  a 
large  landed  estate,  and  titled.  An  Indian  rcni^e  who  had  set 
her  heart  on  him,  to  revenge  herself  for  his  marriage  posted  his 
wife  a  forged  certificate,  and  that  poor  innocent  believing  Sir 
Eeginald  Fairfax  a  bigamist  parted  from  him.  Determined 
to  ferret  out  the  mischief-maker  and  humble  the  pride  of  his 
wife,  he  rejoins  his  old  regiment,  goes  out  to  India,  gets  into  all 
sorts  of  scrapes,  and  is  kept  hanging  about  until  the  very  end  of 
the  third  volume  before  he  and  his  wife  are  reconciled.  The  novel 
having  a  beginning  where  most  others  have  their  endings  may 
be  thought  to  have  some  amount  of  originality  about  it.  There 
is  not  a  strongly  drawn  character  in  the  whole  book,  but  the 
anachronisms  and  syntactical  blunders  not  being  more  numerous 
than  usual,  and  there  being  a  fair  amount  of  mild  excitement 
in  the  story,  it  need  not  be  much  wondered  at  that  it  has  gone 
into  a  second  edition. 

America  Revisited.  Mr.  George  Augustus  Sala  is  one  of  the 
most  experienced  and  methodical  of  bookmakers.  A  trip  which  he 
made  in  1879  in  company  vrith  his  wife  across  the  American 
Continent,  from  the  Bay  of  New  York  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, 
and  from  Lake  Michigan  to  the  Pacific,  was  first  of  all  described 
in  a  series  of  articles  dashed  off  to  the  Daily  Telegraph. 
These,  revised  slightly  and  elaborated,  and  with  a  number  of 
illustrations  borrowed  from  the  pages  of  Barper*8  Magazine^ 
the  New  York  Daily  Graphic^  and  some  of  the  publications 
of  Messrs.  Pettit  and  Euss,  of  San  Francisco,  thrown  in,  make 
up  a  (iouple  of  pleasant  chatty  volumes.  It  is  as  a  story-teller 
Mr.  Sala  is  great.  He  no  sooner  sees  a  thing  in,  we  will  say. 
New  Orleans,  than  he  remembers  an  exactly  similar  thing  in 
Jerusalem  or  Jericho.  If  he  wants  to  describe  Delmonico's  he 
does  it  by  furbishing  up  a  reminiscence  of,  let  us  call  it^  the 
Kaiserhoff  at  St.  Petersburg,  where  he  put  up  at  immediately 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS.         557 

after  the  assassination  of  the  late  (not  Czar  but)  Tsar,  a  word  with 
respect  to  which  Mr.  Sala  has  ever  been  orthographically  very 
particular.  This  sort  of  style  may  have  its  charra,  may  have 
its  disappointments,  according  to  the  reader's  idiosyncrasies. 
We  are  not  going  to  find  fault  with  it  because  we  happen  not 
to  think  it  the  highest  form  of  art,  not  we.  If  the  reader 
likes  it ;  well,  let  him.  Chacun  a  son  gout  The  utilitarian 
may  think  the  note  at  p.  227  of  Volume  11.  worth  as  much  as 
any  piece  of  information  of  the  same  size  to  be  found  in  the 
whole  work.  The  author  says :  "  Our  journey  covered  four 
months  and  a  half.  I  earned  by  letter  writing  (paying  my 
own  expenses)  £920,  and  I  spent  between  the  end  of  November 
and  the  middle  of  April  just  £1,035.  I  may  add,  first,  that  we 
lived  as  economically  as  we  could,  and  that  our  consumption  of 
wine  at  dinner  (for  two)  never  exceeded  a  pint  of  claret  or 
champagne ;  and  next  that  we  travelled  20,000  miles,  of  which 
about  9,000  were,  through  the  courtesy  of  railway  companies, 
gratuitous  transportation.  But  in  the  article  on  Pullman  cars, 
I  must  have  spent  at  least  £200."  Query  :  Between  the  D.  T. 
articles  and  the  present  publication,  how  much  did  G.  A.  S.  net 
by  the  journey? 

The  Captain's  Room  and  other  stories.  Mr.  Walter 
Besantj  has  collected  into  three  volumes  a  number  of  short 
stories  contributed  by  him  from  time  to  time  to  various  English 
magazines.  The  material  of  some  of  them  has  been  flat-rolled 
into  the  confines  of  boredom.  The  Captain's  Roomy  which  is 
the  first  of  the  yams,  takes  nine  chapters  to  tell  what  might 
very  well  have  been  told  in  three.  It  is  simply  a  story  of  a 
young  fellow.  Rex  Amuger,  rescued  from  the  Thames — into 
which  he  had  jumped  to  save  a  man's  life — by  a  girl  who 
happened  to  be  paddling  thereabouts  in  a  skifiF.  The  couple 
fall  in  love.  Rex  goes  on  a  voyage  from  which  he  does  not 
return  as  soon  as  he  was  expected.  In  search  of  him  start  at 
different  times  no  less  than  three  captains,  each  in  love  with 
the  heroine,  Lai  Rydquist,  who  it  was  that  imposed  the 
quest  upon  them.  One  of  them,  a  thorough-paced  humbug, 
returns  with  a  cock-and-bull  story  he  has  invented  to  cover 
his  cowardice.  Another,  a  knave,  actually  finds  the  castaway 
in  some  island  "  mid  the  far  off  seas,"  living  among  savages  as 
a  sort  of  chief.  On  his  refusal  to  give  the  exploring  party  his 
word  of  honour  to  lie  perdu  until  after  said  party's  marriage 
with  Lai  Rydquist,  he  is  left  there  alone  in  his  glory.  Lastly, 
the  best  man,  a  Swedish  Captain  Holstius,  goes  on  the  trail, 
taking  Lai  with  him.  They  arrive  at  the  island,  find  Rex,  and 
haul  him  off  in  the  ship's  boat.  Just  then  the  natives, 
maddened  at  the  thought  that  the  white  man  was  leaving  them, 
aim  their  spears  at  him.  One  of  the  weapons  transfixes  Captain 
Holstius,  who  dies  with  his  head  in  the  lap  of  the  girl  for  whose 


558         MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBBAKY  BOOKS. 

happiness  he  has  rendered   the    noblest    sacrifice    in    man'* 
power. 

Let  Nothing  you  Dismay^  which  comes  next,  is  the  story  of  a 
couple  of  lovers  to  whom  we  are  introduced  at  Warkworth,  in 
Northumberland,  in  the  parish  church  there,  where  one  of  them^ 
the  youth,  is  doing  penance  for  having  frightened  divers  of  the 
parishioners  by  personating  a  ghost.  The  plot  is  of  the 
thinnest.  The  instigator  of  the  punishment  of  penance  is 
Ralph  Embleton's  cousin  and  guardian,  Matthew  Humble,  whom 
Ralph  canes  and  then  deserts.  After  many  years  the  lad 
returns  from  India,  where  he  has  attained  wealth  and  distinction 
under  Lord  Clive,  just  in  time  to  prevent  his  cousin  from  selling 
the  cottage  over  the  head  of  his  sweetheart,  and  otherwise 
making  ducks  and  drakes  of  things  in  general. 

They  were  Man^d  is  the  story  of  a  Creole  heiress  who  came 
very  near  contracting  a  bigamous  alliance — ^the  bigamy  being 
on  the  side  of  the  would-be  husband — with  her  English  cousin ^ 
the  Hon.  Guy  Ferrier,  a  blackleg  who  wanted  her  money  to 
pay  his  gambling  debts  and  set  himself  to  rights  with  the 
world  generally.  Fortunately  for  the  Creole,  the  wife,  an 
actress,  turns  up  in  the  nick  of  time,  and  Virginie  Ferrier  is 
thus  enabled  to  return  home  and  marry  another,  cousin  also 
impecunious  and  a  considerable  deal  of  a  lout,  whom  and  whose 
family  she,  or  at  least  her  wealth,  makes  happy  ever  after. 

Two  shorter  tales  complete  the  collection.  One,  TJie 
humbling  of  the  Meinblingsy  relates  how  an  inquisitive  young 
man  found  out  the  secret  of  a  haunted  chamber  which  the 
Membling  family  regarded  with  prodigious  pride  as  evidence 
irrefragable  of  their  ancient  descent.  The  other,  and  in  many 
respects  the  best  story  of  the  whole  lot,  is  The  Murdei^  of  Nick 
VeddeVy  which,  if  our  memory  serves  us,  we  read  several  years 
ago,  when  Air.  Walter  Besant  was  not  quite  so  well  known  as 
he  is  now,  in  the  pages  of  Temple  Bar  or  some  other  English 
monthly.  We  remember  a  mental  note  we  made  at  the  time. 
*'The  man,"  we  soliloquised  "can  write."  And  subsequent 
events  have  shown  that  he  can. 

Yaten  Sionedj  neu  y  Oronfa  Gymmysg.  Aberystwith: 
Jno.  Morgan,  "  Observer "  Office.  This  is  a  miscellaneous 
collection  of  short  tales  and  sketches,  some  of  the  former  long 
current  in  the  PrincipaUty ;  some  of  the  latter  a  mixture  of 
local  description  and  local  legend  well  told  and  in  very  pleasing 
variety.  Fearing  the  non- Welsh  reader  may  be  puzzled  by  the 
title  of  the  book,  we  will  briefly  tell  him  what  it  means. 
**  Sioned,"  which  is  Janet,  was  an  old  woman  who  used  to  go 
about  the  country  begging,  with  a  huge  pitcher  on  her  hips^ 
into  which  she  threw  all  the  alms  she  received,  wet  and  dry 
alike.  How  she  eventually  utilised  the  oUa  podrida  (the 
Crovfa  Gymmyag  of  the  author)  we  are  not  told.    We  would 


MARGINAL  NOTES  ON  LIBRARY  BOOKS.        559* 

advise  the  reader  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  this  little  work, 
and  to  dip  heartily  and  frequently  into  the  hotch-ix)t  which  the 
writer  has  provided  for  him. 

Y  Geninen  is  the  title  of  the  new  Welsh  quarterly  of  which 
the  second  number  has  just  been  issued.  As  a  publishing 
experiment  this,  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  must  be  a 
dubious  one.  Welsh  students  of  the  class  to  whom  a  quarterly 
may  be  supposed  to  appeal  are  hardly  numerous  enough  to 
ensure  its  success  from  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  and  the 
tendency  of  the  age  is  certainly  against  the  multiplication  of 
works  requiring  much  Welsh  study.  The  contents  of  the 
present  number  appear  very  well  selected,  although  some  of  the 
essays  and  poetry  are  a  trifle  too  serious.  The  paper  on  which 
the  magazine  is  printed  is  much  better  in  the  present  number 
than  in  the  preceding — an  improvement  that  was  sadly  needed^ 
The  publishers  are  Messrs.  D.  W,  Davies  and  Co.,  Carnarvon. 


LITERARY  AXD  ART  NOTES  OF  THE  MONTH,  &c. 


At  a  recent  meeting  of  the  Archjeological  Institute,  presided 
over  by  General  Sir  Henry  Lefroy,  Mr.  J.  Park  Harrison,  London, 
-exhibited  casts  of  letters,  believed  to  be  Romano-British,  which 
he  had  discovered  at  Stonehenge.  In  an  interesting  communi- 
cation on  the  subject,  to  a  recent  number  of  the  Acadeniyy  Mr. 
Harrison  says : — "  Some  letters  upon  the  centre  leaning-stone 
and  western  trilithon  at  Stonehenge,  casts  of  which  were 
<?xhibited  at  the  last  meeting  of  the  Boyal  Archaeological 
Institute,  have  not,  I  believe,  been  hitherto  observed  owing  to 
the  thick  coat  of  lichen  with  which  they  were  clothed  when 
discovered  by  me  in  September  last.  It  was,  however,  soon 
afterwards  entirely  scraped  oflF  the  letters  on  the  trilithon  by 
some  person  who  had  obser\'ed  the  close  examination  that  had 
been  made  of  them.  This  inscription  has  consequently  lost  the 
tints  of  age,  though,  owing  to  the  extreme  hardness  of  the 
Sarsen  stone,  the  forms  of  the  letters  have  not  been  injured. 
It  consists  of  five  capital  letters  arranged  in  a  line  and  divided 
by  central  stops — E  •  B  •  P  •  M  •  P.  A  capital  Y,  which  may  be 
a  symbol,  and  bears  marks  of  having  been  renewed  (though  now 
covered  with  fine  lichen),  stands  before  the  E.  The  letter  B  is 
formed  with  a  space  between  the  loops,  the  lower  one 
terminating  in  a  sharp  angle  at  the  base.  It  is  a  Greek  form 
frequently  met  with  in  inscriptions  in  Wales  and  the  West  of 
England.  The  M  is  of  irregular  shape,  like  several  in  the 
Gaulish  inscriptions,  in  Greek  letters,  in  the  library  at  St.  Ger- 
main. It  is  extremely  improbable  that  these  peculiarities  in  form 
of  two  letters  out  of  four  forming  the  inscription  should  have  been 
accidental.  On  the  leaning-stones  there  are  two  couplets,  IM... 
IM. ,  six  inches  apart.  They  were  covered  with  thicker  lichen 
than  the  letters  above  mentioned,  but  it  was  carefully  cleared 
off  the  second  set  with  a  fine  wire  brush  previous  to  casts  being 
taken.  The  crustaceous  lichen  on  the  first  couplet  differs  in  no 
respect  from  that  growing  in  patches  on  the  east  face  of  the 
leaning-stone,  and  is  extremely  long-lived.  As  the  season  now 
permits  of  visits  being  made  to  Stonehenge,  it  is  hoped  that  no 
one  will  remove  any  \mt  of  the  lichen  upon  it.  The  form  and 
jreathering  of  the  letters  (which  appear  to  have  been  all  cut  at 


LITERARY  AND  ART  NOTES.  561 

the  same  time)  can  be  seen  in  the  adjoining  couplet.  The 
letters  here  described,  which,  I  may  add,  are  generally  accepted 
as  ancient  by  those  most  conversant  with  Romano-British 
inscriptions,  should  not  be  confounded  with  those  others  found 
some  time  back  on  the  fallen  impost  of  the  great  trilithon." 

Writing  a  subsequent  issue  of  the  same  jom-nal  Mr.  Harrison 
states : — In  my  letter  last  week,  I  omitted  to  say  that  the  capital 
Y  on  the  trilithon  of  Stonehenge  (which  is,  perhaps,  a  symbol), 
is  five  times  the  size  of  the  letters  forming  the  inscription. 
There  are  letters  adjoining  which  may  date  from  the  commence- 
ment of  the  last  century,  the  weathering  of  which,  when 
examined  with  a  lens,  will  be  found  to  be  very  different.  I 
wish  to  add  that  the  Rev.  J.  Crombie  has  identified  the  lichen 
on  the  couplet  as  Peticsiaria  coinvtunis  vir.  rupestris.  As 
regards  the  longevity  of  lichens,  it  appears  that  their  life  "bears 
in  itself  no  cause  of  death,  and  is  only  to  be  ended  by  external 
injuries,  or  by  the  alteration  of  climate  and  atmospheric  condi- 
tions." Destruction,  due  to  the  former  cause,  is  threatening 
both  lichen  and  letters  on  the  leaning  stone,  owing  to  the 
impending  fall  of  that  fine  monolith.  Can  no  arrangement  be 
made  by  the  respected  owner  of  the  moimment  for  its  preserva- 
tion ? 

The  English  are  imitating  us.  On  the  13th  and  14th  of 
April  there  was  held  at  Stratford,  under  the  auspices  of  Mr.  J. 
Spencer  Cur  wen,  a  musical  competition,  admittedly  on  the  plan 
of  the  Eisteddfod.  There  were  about  150  entries,  the  subjects 
being  pianoforte  playing,  solo  singing,  composition,  and  choral 
singing.  Mr.  Curwen,  it  may  be  remembered,  was  one  of  the 
judges  at  the  National  Eisteddfod  of  Wales  held  at  Merthyr  in 
1881. 

The  Rev.  T.  Worthington,  St.  Teath,  Cornwall,  has  recovered 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  fractured  Celtic  Cross  formerly  standing 
in  St.  Teath  Churchyard,  near  Camelford.  Originally  a  granite 
monolith,  fifteen  feet  high,  it  had  been  split  up  and  utilised  for 
copings  and  other  practical  purposes.  It  will  now  be  put 
together  and  re-erected. 

The  Rev.  John  Davies  is  writing  a  series  of  papers  on 
'*  Celtic  Elements  in  the  Lancashire  Dialect,"  for  the  Archceo- 
login  Canibrensis. 

One  of  those  numerous  and  appreciative  audiences,  always 
assembling  when  the  name  of  Mr.  Brinley  Richards  is  in  the 
programme,  recently  met  at  the  rooms  of  the  Society  of  Fine 
Arts,  Conduit-street,  London,  to  hear  that  distinguished 
musician  deliver  a  lecture  on  "The  Music  of  Wales  and 
Eleventh  Century  Manuscripts."  Mr.  Henry  Richard,  3LP., 
presided.  The  lecturer,  after  referring  to  the  ancient  music  of 
the  Britons,  and  the  statements  of  Archdeacon  Williams, 
corrected  the  errors  of  Welsh  and  Irish  historians  concerning 

L  L 


562  LITERARY   AND   ART   NOTES. 

the  manuscripts  of  the  Eleventh  Century,  and  the  supposed 
dates  of  Welsh  tunes. 

Mr.  Brinley  Richards  illustrated  the  peculiarity  of  Cambrian 
scales  by  harp  and  vocal  music,  and  among  the  examples  given 
were  an  ancient  South  Wales  melody  called  "The  Song  of 
Spring,"  and  "  Lloyd's  Farewell,"  an  unpublished  Welsh  air  of 
the  time  of  Richard  III.  The  vocalists,  Miss  Woodhatch  and 
Miss  Eleanor  Rees,  gave  other  specimens  of  the  songs  of  the 
Fourteenth  and  P^ifteenth  Centuries,  with  a  Welsh  and 
Wallachian  "  Lullaby,"  contrasted  with  a  "  Berceuse,"  or 
slumber  song,  by  Mr.  Walter  Macfarren. 

The  statement  made  in  some  of  the  London  literary  journals, 
and  reproduced  by  ourselves,  that  INIrs.  Guest,  of  Sandford  Park, 
would  give  a  copy  of  her  late  husband's  Orig^ines  Cdiiccc  to  any 
library  applying  for  it,  was  not  quite  correct.  Only  a  limited 
number  of  copies  were  set  aside  for  the  purpose,  and  these  have 
already  been  distributed. 

In  Notes  and  Queries^  a  valuable  series  of  contributions  have 
appeared  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Thomas  Kerslake,  entitled  "  The 
Celtic  Substratum  of  England."  The  writer  maintains,  against 
Mr.  G.  T.Clark,  Dowlais,  who  had  declared  the  whole  of  the  district 
to  be  English,  that  Ewyas  Harold,  in  Archenfeld,  is  Celtic,  Ewyas 
itself  being  the  name  of  a  Celtic  saint,  Iwyus  of  Wilton,  in 
Archenfeld,  which  latter  name  again  pre-existed  in  the  Celtic 
form  "  Ergyng." 

On  Thursday  evening,  April  19th,  at  the  Lecture-hall  of  New 
Jewin  Welsh  Calvinistic  Methodist  Chapel,  the  Rev.  D.  Charles 
Davies,  M.A.,  delivered  the  last  of  a  series  of  lectures  upon 
certain  phases  of  modem  unbelief.  Hitherto  Mr.  Davies  has 
directed  his  attention  to  the  views  propounded  by  Mr.  Herbert 
Spencer,  and  especially  to  those  contained  in  his  "  Data  of 
Ethics."  In  his  next  series  Mr.  Davies  will  deal  with  the 
opinions  expressed  by  Mr.  Leslie  in  his  work  on  "Natural 
Religion." 

The  only  W^elshman  who  won  a  scholarship  at  the  new  Royal 
College  of  Music  was  Mr.  Dan  Price,  Dowlais,  a  promising 
young  baritone  singer.  At  the  original  examinations  no  less 
than  1,588  candidates  presented  themselves,  but  these  were 
reduced  by  the  preliminary  local  examinations  to  480.  These 
were  under  examination  in  the  second  week  in  April  by  the 
professors  of  the  college  in  the  various  branches  at  the  college 
and  in  the  Albert  Hall,  the  result  being  that  76  only  were  left  to 
be  dealt  with  by  the  professors  in  conclave  assembled.  The 
examining  professors  were  Madame  Lind-Goldschmidt,  Madame 
Arabella-Goddard,  Mr.  Pauer,  Mr.  Deacon,  Mr.  Holmes,  Mr. 
Walter  Parratt,  Mr.  Martin,  Mr.  Standford,  Mr,  Hubert  Pany, 
Dr.  Bridge,  Mr.  Franklin  Taylor,  Mr.  John  Bamett,  Mr.  Eaton 
Faning,  Air.  Visetti,  Mr.  Gompertz,  Mr.  John  Thomas,  Mr. 


LITERARY  AND   ART   NOTES.  563 

Lazams,  and  Mr.  BaiTett.  Among  those  classed  proocime 
dccesenint  at  the  same  examination  was  Miss  Keturah  Evans, 
also  of  Dowlais. 

In  the  great  fire  which  recently  took  place  at  Messrs.  Kegan 
Paul  and  Company's  premises  in  Paternoster  Row,  a  beautifully 
illustrated  edition  of  Mr.  Lewis  Morris's  "  Epic  of  Hades  "  was 
destroyed,  as  also  were  several  editions  of  his  other  works.  It 
is  to  be  hoped,  however,  that  the  copies  will  very  shortly  be 
reproduced. 

Since  the  publication  of  our  last  number  Mr.  Askew  Roberts 
writes  as  follows :  -The  question  has  been  asked  if  some 
of  the  funeral  customs  within  the  memory  of  those  now 
living  do  not  point  to  a  more  pronounced  ceremony  on  the  part 
of  our  forefathers?  One  writer  states— but  only  on  hearsay 
— that  last  century  it  was  usual,  when  the  corpse  was  brought 
out  of  the  house,  and  laid  upon  the  Elory  or  bier,  for  the  next 
of  kin  of  the  feminine  gender  "  to  give  over  the  coffin  a  number 
of  white  loaves,  in  a  great  dish,  and  sometimes  a  Welsh  cheese 
with  a  piece  of  money  stuck  in  it,  to  certain  poor  persons, 
after  which  a  cup  of  drink  was  presented,  also  over  the  coffin, 
of  which  a  little  was  to  be  drunk  immediately.  When  this  was 
done  the  minister  knelt  down  and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer."  No 
one  has  corroborated  this  from  the  definite  information  of 
father  or  grandfather ;  but  they  have  spoken  of  a  more  modified 
form  of,  perhaps,  the  same  ceremony,  within  their  own  re- 
collection. Less  than  half  a  century  ago  it  was  usual  at  every 
*'  respectable  "  funeral  to  have  made  up  into  packets  a  couple 
of  bits  of  cake — one  of  rich  plum,  and  the  other  plain — 
wrapped  in  black-edged  paper  and  sealed  with  black  wax.  One 
of  these  was  presented  to  each  of  the  invited  guests,  who  took 
it  home  unopened.  At  funerals  of  less  pretensions  a  "  large 
round  biscuit,  of  the  size  and  form  of  an  ordinary  tea-saucer 
inverted,  took  the  place  of  the  packet  of  cake.  These  were 
*  served  '  to  each  of  the  parties  attending  the  funeral  (by  one  of 
the  most  respectable  men  present)  on  a  tray  called  the  *  Hand- 
board,'  or  *  Server.'  The  ceremony  was  gone  through  just 
before  *  Raising  the  Body.'  After  this  the  *  Tankard '  of  hot- 
€piced  ale  was  offered  to  each  person  present.  This  was  made 
of  pewter,  and  had  a  lid :  everyone  was  expected  to  take  a  sip." 
In  narrating  this  in  Bye-yonea  of  May  17,  1882,  the  writer  also 
<»lled  attention  to  a  note  in  the  history  of  the  parish  of  Llan- 
fechain,  published  in  Mont:  Coll:  by  the  Rev.  Maddock 
Williams  in  1872.  He  became  rector  in  1851,  and  found  it  was 
usual  to  allow  cne  of  the  sacramental  vessels  (a  silver  flagon 
presented  to  the  parish  in  1691)  to  be  used  in  place  of  the 
customary  tankard — a  custom  he  at  once  denounced,  to  the  no 
•small  chagrin  of  the  parishioners.  How  far  these  customs  form 
a  lingering  remnant  of  the  Sin  Eater,  your  readers  must  judge 
for  themselves.  L  L  "2 


564  LITEKAKY  AND  ART  NOTES. 

Concerning  the  contribution  "  The  Last  Battle  of  Glamorgan," 
which  appeared  in  our  February  number,  a  corres|X)ndent 
writes: — I  venture  to  call  your  attention  to  certain  statements 
in  this  paper  which  are  palpably  incorrect.  I  have  by  me  a 
considerable  mass  of  matter  relating  to  "  lolo  Morganwg,"  and 
am  still  collecting  more,  which  makes  me  very  jealous  of  his 
reputation.  I  do  not  know  the  origin  of  the  story  your  contri- 
butor cites ;  but  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  believe  that  lolo  ever 
made  such  statements,  for  he  was  very  capable  of  weighing 
evidence  aright.  What  I  want  to  point  out  is  the  moral 
impossibility  of  his  having  known  persons  who  remembered  the 
Battle  of  St.  Fagan's.  He  was  not  born  until  nearly  a  hundred 
years  (1746)  after  that  event,  and  this  fact  ought  at  once  to 
dispose  of  the  whole  affair.  It  is  much  more  probable  that  he 
should  have  said  that  he  knew  the  grand  children  of  persons 
who  remembered  it,  and  who  had  received  it  from  their  grand 
parents.  I  admit  that  I  had  myself  heard  the  same  stoiy ;  but 
1  think  in  duty  bound  we  should  all  exercise  our  reason  before 
repeating  such  traditions  in  print.  The  story,  as  told  to  me, 
was  that  he  had  known  a  woman  who  was  milking  cows  at  Ely, 
and  who  heard  the  Battle  of  St.  Fagan's  fought.  Assuming  this 
milk  maid  to  have  been  sixteen  years  old  at  the  time,  and  lolo 
to  have  been  twenty  when  he  was  told  it — and  it  is  certain  he 
took  no  interest  in  such  mutters  at  an  earlier  age — she  must 
have  been  1 32  years  old  at  the  time  she  told  it  to  him.  This, 
of  course,  is  preposterous,  and  quite  an  outrage  on  common 
sense.  It  is  because  I  do  not  wish  the  dear  old  man's  memory 
to  be  held  in  ridicule — as  it  must  be  if  he  made  such  statements — 
I  have  troubled  you  with  this,  and  I  think  some  correction  of  it 
should  appear  in  the  form  of  a  note  in  some  future  Dragon, 

A  correspondent  writes : — Let  me  suggest  a  *■'  note "  re 
Phoenix  Park.  Do  you  know  the  word  Phamix  is  a  corruption 
of  two  Celtic  words,  and  means  "clear  water;"  e.gr.,  fion-uiege, 
^^'ith  Fion  compare  Welsh  Gwyn ;  uisge  being  a  word  which 
runs  through  a  great  number  of  variations :  Wysg,  usk,  is,  as, 
oise,  ex,  ax,  and  the  Ox  in  Oxford  (Welsh,  Ehydy chain)  which 
is  formed  on  a  false  etymology,  and  is  quite  modem. 

"  (jlanffrwd "  delivered  his  promised  lecture  on  "  Welsh 
Hymnology  "  before  the  members  of  the  Cymmrodorion  Society, 
at  the  Freemasons'  Tavern,  London,  on  the  16th  of  April.  The 
chair  was  occupied  by  Capt.  E.  H.  Verney,  K.N.  In  his  intro- 
duction the  lecturer,  who,  it  may  be  explained,  is  the  Vicar  of 
St.  Asaph,  touched  very  briefly  upon  the  hymnology  of  Wales  in 
the  pre-historic  period.  It  was  thought  that  the  Diiiids  had 
hymns ;  and  there  could  be  no  reasonable  doubt  but  that  the 
early  British  Church  possessed  sacred  lyrics,  but  no  trace  had 
been  left  of  them.  Keference  was  made  by  Taliesin  to  the 
hymnology  of  his  time — the  sixth  century — and  Llawdden  in 


LITERARY  AND  ART  NOTES.  565 

the  year  1451  speaks  of  hymns  written  in  the  Mediaeval  period 
in  honour  of  the  Virgin  Mary.     In  the  year  1340  some  hymns 
were  written  by  Davydd  Ddu,  of  Hiraddug,  vicar  of  Tremeirch- 
ion  and  canon  of  St.  Asaph,  several  of  which  may  be  seen  in  the 
]Myvyrian  Archaeology.     It  is  probable  that  the  old  Welsh  sang 
these  hymns  to  ancient  national  melodies  such  as  **  Y  Fwy- 
alchen "   and   "  Cwynfan  Prydain."      In    1621   Edmund  Prys, 
Archdeacon  of  Merioneth,  gave  the  Welsh  a  metrical  version  of 
the  Psalms    in    their    own    language.     Next    came   Rowland 
\'aughan,    who   translated   into   Welsh  that   beautiful   hymn, 
'*  Veni  Creator  Spiritus."     About  the  same  time  lived  Elis  Wyn 
o  Lasynys,  better  known  as  Bardd  Cwsg,  who  wrote  that  much- 
admired  funeral  hymn  beginning  with  "  Myfi  ywV  adgyfodiad 
mawr,"  which  is  almost  a  literal  translation  of  the  text  in  the 
Burial  Service,  "  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,"  &c.     In 
the  year  1741  Morgan  Jones  and  Edmund  Williams,  of  Ponty- 
pool,  Monmouthshire,  both  of  whom  were  followers  of  Howell 
Harris,  brought  out  a  volume  of  hymns,  under  the   title   of 
"Hymnau  Duwiol."      In    1743  six  hymns  were  published  by 
Kowlands,   of    Llangeithio,  in  connection   with  an   essay  of  a 
theological  character.     Between  the  years  1744  and  1758  were 
published  various   hymns  composed  by  the  Pencerdd  of  the 
Church  in  W'ales — William  Williams,  of  Pantycelyn.     One  of 
the  chief  hymnologists  of  the  last  century  was  Morgan  Rhys,  of 
Llanfynnydd,  the  author  of  the  well-known  hymn  beginning 
with  the  words,  '^  0  agor  fy  llygaid  i  weled  Gogoniant  dy  arfaeth 
a'th  air."     About  the  year  1762  appeared  Dafydd  William,  who 
was  a  minister  with  the  Baptists,  and  who  lived  for  some  years 
at   Goppa,   Glamorganshire.     He  is  stated  to  have  composed 
that  grand  old  hymn  which  is  known  to  every  Welshman,  and 
which  begins  with  the  line,  "  Yn  y  dyfroedd  mawr  a'r  tonnau." 
Other  hymnologists  were  John  Thomas,  of  Raiadr ;  David  Jones, 
Caio ;  the  Rev.  D.  Charles,  Carmarthen  (brother  of  Charles  o'r 
Bala) ;  and  John  Williams,  of  St.  Athan,  a  poet  from  the  Vale  of 
Glamorgan,  who  has  left  a  legacy  to  his  countrymen  in  that 
well-known  hymn,  "Pwy  welaf  o  Edom  yn  dod."    There  was 
also  Edward  Jones,  of  ^laesyplwm,  and  Ann  Griffiths,  who  died 
at  the  early  age  of  29.  Of  the  nineteenth  century  the  chief  hymno- 
logist  is  the  late  Kev.  Evan  Evans  ("  leuan  Glan  Gerionydd  "). 
Mention  had  also  to  be  made  of  Robert  ap  Gwilym  Ddu  and 
Islwyn,   who   were    worthy  of    a    high    place.     After    briefly 
referring  to  hymnology  as  an  element  in  the  education  and 
refinement  of  the  Welsh  i)eople,  Mr,   Thomas   proceeded  to 
refer  to  several  of  the  best-known  of  the  Welsh  hymns.     There 
was  "  Yn  y  Dyfroedd,"  &c.,  which  would  henceforth  be  known 
as  the  "Miners'  Hymn,"  in  commemoration  of  the  use  made  of 
it  by  the  ten  miners  entombed  in  a  South  Wales  Colliery.     The 
lecturer   then    referred  to  several  amusing  cases  of  queer  or 


566  LITERARY  AND   ART   NOTES. 

absurd  hymns,  and  concluded  with  a  short  critical  notice  of  the 
influence  of  English  ideas  on  the  mind  of  Williams,  of  Panty- 
celyn,  with  special  reference  to  the  use  made  by  Williams  of 
some  passages  in  Young's  "  Night  Thoughts."  In  the  course  of 
the  lectme  vocal  illustrations  were  given  by  Madame  Martha 
Harries  and  Miss  Annie  Williams. 

The  Marquess  of  Bute,  whose  interest  in  all  matters  pertain- 
ing to  antiquity  is  well-known,  has  preferred  to  act  as  Vice- 
President  of  the  Pipe  Roll  Society  in  reply  to  an  invitation  to 
accept  the  presidency  of  the  society.  Mr.  Borlase,  M.P.,  vice- 
president  of  the  Society  of  Antiquaries,  will,  therefore,  be  the 
first  president  of  this  new  society.  It  may  be  added  that  the 
society  has  been  formed  with  a  view  to  the  reproduction  in 
record  type  of  the  thirty  "  Pipe  Rolls,"  the  great  Rolls  of  the 
Exchequer  of  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  The  society  will  also  deal 
with  all  unprinted  records  which  are  extant  prior  to  the  year 
1200. 

Brooklyn  has  a  monthly  magazine,  called  -471  Gaodhdly 
devoted  to  the  preservation  of  the  Irish  language. 

The  Scdtair  na  Ranrij  or  "  Psalter  of  the  Staves  or  Qua- 
trains," a  collection  of  162  Early-Middle-Irish  poems,  contained 
in  its  entirety  only  in  the  Rawlinson  MSS.  in  the  Bodleian 
Library,  and  never  before  printed,  will  be  published  im- 
mediately in  the  "Anecdota  Oxoniensia"  series,  under  the 
editorship  of  Mr.  Whitley  Stokes. 

A  monument,  costing  £600,  of  which  sum  only  about  £100 
remains  uncollected,  has  been  erected  to  the  memory  of  Daniel 
Rowlands,  Llangeithio.  The  inscription  upon  the  pedestal 
runs — "Daniel  Rowlands,  born  A.D.  1713;  died  October  16th, 
1790."  The  sculptor  is  Mr.  E.  Grriffiths,  Chester,  of  whose  work 
report  speaks  very  highly. 

Sir  C.  W.  Siemens  was  elected  one  of  the  managers  of  the 
Royal  Institution  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the  body  held 
recently. 

At  one  of  the  lately-held  meetings  of  the  Browning  Society, 
the  fact  was  made  public  (by  Mr  Fumivall)  that  Mr  Browning's 
*'  Flight  of  the  Duchess "  took  its  rise  from  one  line — 
"Following  the  Queen  of  the  Gipsies,  0  !"  the  burden  of  a  song 
which  the  poet,  when  a  boy,  heard  a  woman  singing  on  a  Guy 
Fawkes  Day.  The  poem  was  written  in  two  parts,  of  which  the 
first  was  published  in  Hood's  Magazine,  April,  1845,  and 
contained  only  nine  sections.  As  Mr  Browning  was  writing  it, 
he  was  interrupted  by  the  anival  of  a  friend  on  some  important 
business,  which  drove  all  thoughts  of  the  Duchess  and  the 
scheme  of  her  story  out  of  the  poet's  head.  But  some  months 
after  the  publication  of  the  first  part,  when  he  was  staying  at 
Bettisfield  Park,  in  Whales,  a  guest,  speaking  of  early  winter, 
said  "  The  deer  had  already  to  break  the  ice  on  the  pond.** 


LITERARY  AND  ART  NOTES.  567 

On  this  a  fancy  struck  the  poet,  and,  on  returnino;  home,  he 
worked  it  up  into  the  conclusion  of  "  The  Flight  of  the 
Duchess  "  as  it  now  stands,  and  as  it  was  published  in  No.  7  of 
the  Bella  and  Pomegranates  in  November,  1845. 

The  115th  Annual  Exhibition  of  the  Royal  Academy  opened 
on  Monday,  May  7th.  Among  the  Welsh  exhibits  were  a 
bust  of  Mr.  John  Roberts,  M.P.,  by  Mr.  W.  Da  vies  (Mynorydd) ; 
a  clay  model  bust  of  the  late  Sir  Hugh  Owen,  by  Mr.  Milo 
G-riflSth ;  another  bust  of  the  same  gentleman  by  Mr.  Walter 
Merrett,  a  pupil  of  the  late  Joseph  Edwards ;  a  draped  female 
figure,  entitled  "  Summer  Flowers,"  by  Mr.  Milo  Griffith ;  a 
female  head  in  bronze  called  "  An  Evening  Star,"  and  a  terra 
cotta  bust,  "  The  Portrait  of  a  Lady,"  both  by  the  same  artist. 
Mr.  Brock,  A.R.A.,  has  a  finely  executed  marble  bust  of  Mr.  R. 
H.  Rhys,  chairman  of  the  Merthyr  Board  of  Guardians,  and 
Mr.  Winter,  another  pupil  of  the  late  Joseph  Edwards,  has 
several  works.  Mr.  T.  Squire,  26,  Wind  Street,  Swansea,  has 
an  exquisite  water  colour,  "  On  the  Erme."  Mr.  Ouless's  much 
admired  portrait  of  the  late  Bishop  of  LlandafF  is  exhibited. 
There  are  several  scenes  by  non-resident  artists,  chiefly  of 
Welsh  scenery,  coast  and  inland,  the  mere  enumeration  of  which 
would  take  up  too  much  of  our  space. 

The  Annual  Conversazione  of  the  Cymmrodorion,  held  at  the 
Freemasons'  Tavern  on  the  3rd  of  May,  was  a  successful  one  in 
every  respect.  Works  of  art,  comprising  oil  paintings,  water- 
colour  drawings,  and  sculpture  were  exhibited  by  Messrs.  Cave 
Thomas,  B.  S.  JVLarks,  R.  L.  Aldridge,  Milo  Griffith,  and  W. 
Davies  (Mynorydd).  There  were  also  a  few  of  the  works  of  the 
late  Joseph  Edwards.  Books,  rare  manuscripts,  and  curious 
engravings  were  shown  by  the  Rev.  John  Davies,  M.A.,  Mr. 
Howell  W.  Lloyd,  M.A.,  Mr.  Bernard  Quaritch,  Mr.  F.  W. 
Rudler,  F.R.S.,  and  Mr.  John  Thomas  (Pencerdd  Gwalia). 
Objects  of  antiquarian  interest,  including  an  old  Druidic 
divining  stone,  were  kindly  lent  by  the  Rev.  F.  K.  Harford, 
M.A.,  and  Dr.  A.  Wynn  Williams.  Short  papers  on  subjects 
connected  with  the  work  of  the  society  were  read  during  the 
evening,  and  the  proceedings  were  brought  to  a  close  with  the 
performance  of  a  programme  of  Welsh  music  contributed  by 
Madame  Edith  Wynne,  Madame  Martha  Harries,  Mr.  Hirwen 
Jones,  Mr.  Lucas  Williams,  Mr.  Lewis  Thomas,  and  Mr.  John 
Thomas.  The  Rev.  John  Davies,  M.A.,  a  member  of  the  Asiatic 
Society,  read  a  paper  claiming  for  Sir  Wm.  Jones  the  discovery 
of  the  relation  between  the  Sanskrit  and  the  principal  European 
languages.  Dr.  B.  W.  Richardson  followed  with  a  somewhat 
discursive  comparison  between  the  Welsh  and  the  Basques,  and 
subsequently  **  Pencerdd  Gwalia "  read  a  paper,  replete  with 
excellent  suggestions,  on  Music  and  the  Eisteddfod. 


CDSSIP   I'ROM  THE    WELSH    COLLEGES. 

ST.  DA^'ID'.S  COLLEGE,  LAMPETER. 


The  Suinnier  Term  o|>ened 
in  a  very  sad  way  with  the 
sudden  death  of  Mr.  Abel 
r  Hughes,  a  bieniiiiil  student 
«  of  the  college.  Mr.  Hughes 
j  had  been  a  resident  in  the 
I  town  for  several  years,  and 
■  was     widely     known      and 

^^  respected.     His  funeral  was 

^"i^^""^!^-(^2-'^^^^'3^^^  attended  by  the  whole 
^^^g^!^^^:^^^^'^^  College. 
Kirly  in  the  tenn  the  Librarian  received  a  small  but  inte- 
resting parcel  of  books,  that  had  been  bequeathed  to  the  college 
by  the  late  Bishop  OUivant,  It  included,  among  others,  several 
school  prizes  which  the  Ih'shop  had  won  when  a  hoy  at  St.  Paul's 
School,  more  than  sixty  years  ago ;  and  a  collection  of  examina- 
tion jtapers,  set  by  bini  when  a  tutor  at  Oimbridge.  Such 
things  cannot  but  be  treasured  as  relics  of  one  so  long  the  ruling 
spirit  of  St.  David's  College  in  the  earliest  i)eriod  of  its  history. 
While  on  this  subject  it  is  imiiossible  not  to  refer  to  the  very 
remarkable  sermon  recently  preached  at  St.  Paul's  by  oiir 
present  Princi^wil,  at  the  consecration  of  Dr.  <_Hlivant's  suc- 
cessor. 

There  is  very  little  to  chronicle  for  this  term.  Things  have 
gone  on  very  quietly,  and  most  men  are  absorbed  in  their  pre- 
paration for  the  degree  examinations  in  June.  I^aivn  tennis  is 
being  prosecuted  with  some  vigour.  In  cricket  practically 
nothing  has  been  done.  There  was  some  difficulty  in  gettinga 
suitable  field,  as  the  few  who  possessed  level  tracts  of  ground 
in  this  hilly  region  reiiuired  such  exorbitant  terms  that  no 
reasonable  person  would  close  with  them.  The  field  already 
used  for  football  had  to  be  utilised,  and  a  new  pitch  laid  down. 
Under  these  circumstances  early  cricket  is  impossible  ;  and 
with  June  before  our  eyes  much  cricket  is  improbable. 

We  hove  been  expecting  for  some  time  the  results  of  the 
Welsh  examination,  held  at  the  end  of  last  term,  to  come  out ; 
but  nothing  has  been  beard  of  it  as  yet. 
The  College  haa  teceotV^  \)eftii  affi,^B.\ft^  lo  Cambridge  tmdpr 


GOSSIP  FROXI  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES.  569 

analogous  conditions  to  our  affiliation  with  Oxford  in  1881. 
I^ampeter  graduates  wilt  now  lie  able  to  take  their  degree  at 
Cambridge  after  two  years'  residence,  instead  of  the  usual  three, 
and  as  they  will  be  excused  fho  "  Previous  Examination,"  they 
■will  have  nothing  before  them  except  the  Tripos.  It  ia  worth 
reminding  people  of  the  uni<iue  advantage  St.  David's  Coll^ 
now  offers  to  poor  men,  who  could  not  afford  to  enter  into  the 
regular  course  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  or  who  have  not  had 
sufficient  preparatory  training  to  enable  them  to  do  their  best 
if  they  went  up  at  once.  If  they  do  well  at  I>ampeter,  a 
shortened  and  easier  course  lies  before  them  at  the  old  universi- 
ties. If  they  are  less  successful  they  have  always  their  Lampeter 
work  and  the  I-ampeter  degree  to  fall  back  upon.  Our 
numerous  scholarships  will  reduce  the  expenses  of  a  good  man 
when  here  to  a  very  small  sum,  and  he  will  be  better  prepared 
to  win  some  help  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  as  our  higher  work 
has  been  directly  arranged  with  a  view  to  thp  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge examinations.  And  yet  some  people  call  Lampeter  a 
theological  college,  and  ignore  its  actual  position  and  prospective 
tlainis  to  Ix'  the  University  College  for  Jlid-Wales  I 

Sir,  Taylor,  the  Master  of  St.  John's  ("ollege,  Cambridge,  has 
been  appointed  representative  of  that  University  on  the  College 
Board  in  virtue  of  affiliation.  His  great  position  at  Cambridge, 
liis  wide  general  experience,  and  the  special  knowledge  gained 
:is  Cambridge  Examiner  at  ijami>eter  for  four  years,  will  make 
him  a  most  valuable  addition  to  the  governing  body  of  the 
college.  T. 


I'NIVEKSITV   COLLEGE   OF   WALES,   ABERYSTWYTH. 
"NiD  Byd  By»  iiEB  WvuonAjrrH." 


We  are  now  in  the  middle  of 
the  most  delightful  term   of  the 
session,   the   term   during   which 
out-door    recreation    is   most  at- 
tractive, hut  the  term  in  which 
(alas!),  like  the  skeleton  at  the 
feast,   the  examinations  are  near 
at  hand.     There   must  be  moral 
|-.§^*i'  heroism  in  the  men  who  are  said 
i"?ifcVji  to  be  working  now  just  as  hard  as 
^^•^^  iu  the  dreary  months  of  winter, 
i(  I    and  to  whom  the  advent  of  summer 
'il  is  nothing  compared  to  the  coming 
"   of  a  LondoTi.  eTiMmna^Xo^. 


570         GOSSIP  FROM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES. 

Aberystwyth  has  been  this  year  appointed  one  of  the  centres 
for  the  London  matriculation  examination.  This  cannot  but 
prove  a  great  boon,  for  the  candidate  has  a  far  better  chance 
of  being  cool  and  8elf-i>ossessed  in  the  quietness  of  his  own 
familiar  class-room  than  he  would  have  jrfter  the  fatigue  of  a 
journey  to  London ;  and  many  of  us  can  testify  that  the  roar 
and  rattle  around  us,  and  the  sight  of  hundreds  of  strange  faces, 
of  an  anxiety  which  we  knew  too  well  to  be  a  reflection  of  our 
own  dismal  countenances,  did  not  in  the  least  contribute  to  our 
success.  About  twenty  of  our  own  men  have  entered  their 
names  ;  and,  as  this  is  the  only  Welsh  centre,  we  expect  a  good 
number  of  students  from  all  jmrts  of  the  country  to  attend  the 
examination  here. 

The  College  sessional  examination  will  take  place  at  the  same 
time,  in  the  third  week  in  June.  The  examiners  will  probably 
be  Professor  A.  S.  Wilkins,  M.A.,  LL.D.,  for  classics  and  Conti- 
nental languages;  the  Kev.  S.  Hasley,  F.R.S.,  for  mathematics; 
A.  S.  Hurtidge,  of  Mill  Hill  School,  for  English ;  F.  W.  Rudler, 
F.G.S.,  for  natural  science ;  and  Professor  Radford  Thomson, 
of  New  College,  London,  for  philosophy. 

Dr.  Ethe  has  the  honour  to  succeed  the  late  Professor  Palmer 
(who  was  recently  murdered  by  Bedouin  Arabs  while  pursuing 
his  Oriental  researches)  as  contributor  to  the  English  Encyclo- 
pcndia  Britannica  on  Persian  literature.  He  will  bring  into  it  a 
name  hitherto  unknown  to  English  readers,  a  name  perhaps 
greater  than  even  that  of  Firdausi,  the  name  of  Nasir 
Khasarow,  poet  and  philosopher.  Last  year  the  learned  doctor 
read  a  paper  on  "  Persian  Strife-Poems  "  in  the  International 
Congress  of  Orientalists  held  at  the  Academical  Hall  of  the 
University  of  Berlin,  he  and  Professor  Max  Miiller  being  given 
the  most  important  evening  of  the  congress.  This  year  again 
he  has  been  asked  to  read  two  papers  before  the  same  societj', 
meeting  at  Leyden.  One  paper  will  be  on  a  Turkish  subject 
and  will  be  written  in  English ;  the  other  paper,  wi-itten  in 
German  or  French,  will  be  upon  one  of  the  great  names  in 
which  the  field  of  Persian  literature  is  so  rich.  On  this  latter 
subject  Continental  scholars  have  written  before,  but  as  Dr. 
Ethe  has  sole  access  to  important  MSS.  belonging  to  the  India 
Office,  he  will  produce  a  standard  biography  of  this  Nasir 
Khasarow,  of  which  account  the  Leyden  paper  will  be  a  sum- 
mary. 

Dr.  Humpidge  has  received  a  second  grant  of  £50  from  the 
Royal  Society  for  an  enquiry  into  the  properties  of  the  rare 
metal  gludriura. 

Professor  Newton  Parker  has  just  ended  a  series  of  interest- 
ing lectures,  delivered  for  the  benefit  of  the  philosophy 
students,  on  the  brain  and  nervous  system  considered  in  their 
relation  to  Psychology. 


GOSSIP  FROM  THE  WELSH  COLLEGES.         .571 

Boating  is  greatly  enjoyed,  and  all  the  captains  of  boats  are 
entirely  trustworthy.  The  Cricket  Club,  with  Davies  as  cap- 
tain and  William  Price  as  secretary,  is  doing  well.  A  match 
was  played  between  resident  and  non-resident  students^ 
another  between  Breconshire  students  and  Cardiganshire  and 
Glamorganshire  students,  a  third  between  a  college  eleven  and 
Ardwyn  Schools ;  the  victory  being  always  decisively  in  favour 
of  the  first  side  named.  Price  and  Watkins  (both  Breconshire 
men)  always  distinguished  themselves. 

0.  M.  E. 

May  9th,  1883; 


OUR  "RED  DRAGONS'-  AT  WESTMINSTER. 


Tiie  pious  and  constitutional  Saxon  just  now  contemplates 
Wales  with  a  suspicious  and  a  melancholy  interest.  History 
tells  him  that  the  ancient  Briton  is  a  tough  and  seasoned  foe 
to  conquer,  and  therefore  an  undesirable  enemy  to  encounter. 
He  effected  his  domination  of  the  green  and  yielding  meads 
after  some  trouble.  The  ancient  Briton  contested  every  sijuare 
inch  of  the  soil,  and  only  retreated  westward  to  his  present 
interesting  quarter  of  the  realm  when  the  white-haired 
filibusters  became  so  numerous  that  it  was  useless  remaining 
longer  in  the  valley  of  the  Thames  and  along  the  chalk  wolds  of 
the  well-fought  southern  coast.  He  therefore  collected  all  the 
blue  paint  he  c6uld  find,  and,  assembling  his  wives  and  household 
^ods  around  him,  he  scratched  his  name  upon  his  temples  and 
went  thence. 

In  the  natural  order  of  things  the  lineal  Welshman  should  be 
a  Conservative.  He  should  stick  to  what  he  possesses  like  a 
barnacle  to  a  lyrist ol  hoy,  or  Swansea  to  MrTDillwyn.  He  has 
little  to  thank  his  oppressors  for.  At  all  events  he  has  little 
temptation  to  imitate  their  vices.  The  Radical  Saxon  is  a 
filibustering  and  levelling  iconoclast.  The  first  Saxon  who 
stepped  upon  English  soil  was  a  demagogue,  a  robber  and  a 
spoliator.  He  was  the  son  of  a  thief,  a  Mohawk,  a  Vandal. 
Time  refined  his  rude  and  rapacious  nature,  and  by  a  process 
of  evolution  we  obtained  what  is  happily  known  as  English 
Conservatism.  Still  the  English  Kadical  contrived  to  exist  and 
to  place  his  influence  upon  posterity.  It  has  been  a  great 
struggle  for  the  Saxon  Conservative,  but  he  has  conquered, 
occasionally  has  been  master  of  the  situation,  and,  judging  by 
the  portents  in  the  heavens  of  high  politics,  he  is  not  very  far 
from  being  again  monarch  of  all  he  surveys.  This  being  the 
<?ase,  the  loyal  and  observing  Sjixon  who  respects  the  law,  and 
is  withal  a  defender  of  the  faith,  views  with  no  little  alarm  the 
courses  upon  which  the  Principality,  guided  by  wicked  and 
designing  men,  has  recently  entered.  These  coiu'ses  are 
distinctly  and  unequivocally  evil.  They  are  predatory.  They 
are  conceived  in  a  base  and  spurious  sense  of  progress.  They 
are  dictated  by  a  slavish  and  a  flabby  desire  to  imitate  the 
destructivism  of  Saxon  Radicalism. 


OUR  "  liED  DRAGONS  "  AT  WESTMINSTER.     573 

The  truth  is,  Wales  is  coming  to  the  front  I  It  has  been 
coming  to  the  front  for  two  years.  It  has  drawn  up  a  Charter ; 
has  pciinted  for  itself  a  political  banner  ;  has  entered  upon  the 
war  paths  of  aggressive  Radicalism.  I  regret  to  say  it  has 
adopted  the  shocking  and  pernicious  doctrine  of  submission  by 
the  majority  to  the  minority,  of  the  surrender  of  the  many  to 
the  few.  I  am  bound  to  say,  speaking  as  a  daily  observer  of 
the  struggle  which  goes  on  under  the  classic  attic  roof  of  the 
Legislature,  that  if  the  English  Conservatives  and  the  moderate^ 
even-living  Whigs  (your  Sir  Henry  Hussey  Vivian  being  a 
notable  example  of  an  unhappily  limited  caste)  view  with  alarm 
and  solicitude  the  rampant  Riidicalism  of  the  Welsh  Liberals. 
The  English  Radicals  do  not  view  it  without  intense  astonishment. 
Whilst  the  English  Democrats  are  dreaming  of  what  they  call 
reforms,  the  Welsh  Democrats  are  rushing  their  reforms  through 
the  Legislature.  Wales  was  the  first  to  conceive,  initiate,  and 
caiTy  Sunday  Closing.  Wales  was  the  progenitor  of  the  Burials 
Bill.  Wales  is  on  the  side  of  marriage  with  a  deceased  wife's 
sister.  It  is  not  unreasonable  to  assume  that,  should  the  flag 
of  Revolution  be  raised  in  these  dominions,  and  the  cry  of 
Chamberlain  and  the  Republic  be  heard,  these  astounding 
phenomena  will  be  traceable  in  the  first  place  to  Swansea. 
Swansea,  it  is  well  known  in  Parliamentary  circles,  has  had  its 
Republican  withers  wrung  by  the  unfortunate  visit  to  its 
hospitable  walls  of  the  Apostle  of  the  Caucus.  Of  course,  no 
one  believes  that  the  Swansea  Fathers  seriously  contemplate  or 
have  even  thought  for  a  moment  of  arresting  the  destinies  of 
the  dynasty.  Nevertheless,  it  is  an  admitted  and  accepted 
doctrine  in  proverbial  philosophy  that  "  Evil  communications 
corrupt  good  manners."  Meanwhile,  let  it  be  understood  that 
it  is  only  when  grave  constitutional  changes  begin  to  be  talked 
about,  the  direct  interposition  and  ''  united  action  "  of  liadical 
Wales  may  be  looked  for. 

Thus  it  needed  but  a  straw  to  break  the  back  of  the  camel  of 
English  "Conservative  anxiety,"  and  this  straw  Mr.  Henry 
Richard,  having  donned  his  war-paint,  supplied  in  the  form  of 
the  J^ill  which  he  introduced  on  the  25th  of  last  month,  to 
"unsettle"  the  settlement  of  1880.  The  aim  of  the  Bill^ 
according  to  pious  theologians  like  Mr.  O'Donnell  and  Ix)rd 
Randolph  Churchill,  seemed  to  be  to  exclude  everyone  from 
burial  in  the  cemeteries  and  churchyards  except  Cliurchmen, 
Mr.  O'Donnell,  in  his  pleasant  and  nicy  scliool  of  J^illingsgate, 
declared  boldly,  fixing  his  eye-glass  and  looking  straight  at  the 
gentle  and  venerable  member  for  Merthyr,  tliat  the  modem 
race  of  Radicals  was  but  another  name  for  the  old  race  of 
persecutors.  Ijord  Randolph  Churchill  loudly  cheered  Sir. 
O'Donnell,  and  chaffed  the  Judge  Advocate-General,  Mr. 
Osborne  Morgan,  the  great  author  of  free-trade  in  burials,  with 


^74  OUB  "BED  DRAGONS"  AT  ^TSTMINSTER. 

having  joined  in  a  debate  which  he  did  not  hear,  and  with 
supporting  a  Bill  which  he  did  not  understand.  There  was 
something  amusingly  desperate  in  the  alacrity  with  which  the 
English  Tories  now  fiEistened  upon  the  suggestion  that  more 
time  ought  to  be  given  for  the  consideration  of  a  Bill  which 
^imed  at  driving  a  little  further  in  the  thin  end  of  the  wedge  of 
Church  Disestablishment.  But  Mr.  Heniy  Richard,  who  felt 
that  he  had  carried  the  war  into  the  enemy's  camp,  and  was 
jiaying  off  his  ancient  ancestor,  who  had  fled  from  his  patri- 
monial acres  with  nothing  on  but  a  coat  of  blue  paint,  stuck  to 
his  Bill,  and  fought  it  down  to  the  moment  when,  by  the  forms 
of  a  Wednesday  sitting,  it  was  "  talked  out,"  and  became  a 
**  dropped  order."  Nevertheless,  the  member  for  Merthyr 
rejoiced  in  his  failure.  He  believes,  with  President  Grant,  in 
the  virtue  of  "pegging  away,"  and  he  will  keep  ** pegging  away" 
at  the  reform  of  the  Burial  Laws  until  he  has  got  them  into 
what  in  his  mind  is  perfect  form.  And  then,  Apres  moi  le 
^leluge. 

Meanwhile,  there  is  Mr.  Dillwyn  ready  with  a  resolution  to 
disestablish  and  disendow  the  Church  in  Wales.  So  long  as  our 
Welsh  Dragons  continue  to  spoliate  and  destroy  within  the  four 
comers  of  the  Principality,  and  do  not  push  their  destructive 
claws  beyond,  not  much  harm,  say  the  astute  Machiavellis  of  the 
English  Radical  party,  can  be  done.  But  the  English  Tories  do 
not  take  this  comforting,  or  rather  misleading,  view  of  the 
situation.  The  fact  that  so  much  evil  has  come  already  out  of 
the  Welsh  Nazareth  has  given  to  Wales  a  sinister  setting  in  the 
eyes  of  our  Mr.  Chaplins,  our  Mr.  Newdegates,  our  Sir  Henry 
Tylers,  and  our  Sir  Walter  Barttelots-  all  of  whom  are  defenders 
of  the  faith,  and  are  firmly  convinced  that  Mr.  Henry  Richard 
ought  to  be  burned  alive  as  a  traitor,  and  Mr.  Dillwyn  be  sent 
to  penal  servitude  for  life  into  the  middle  of  the  Lyn-yr-Adar. 
I  offer  no  opinion  upon  these  awful  sentiments,  nor  do  I  sub- 
scribe to  the  libellous  assertion  of  Mr.  Warton,  who  broke  the 
thread  of  Mr.  Richard's  speech  in  moving  the  second  reading  of 
his  Cemetery  Bill  with  the  inteijective  that — 


Tafify  was  a  Welshman, 
Taflfy  was  a  Thief." 


It  is  sufficient  for  my  purpose  to  say  that  Wales  is  just  now  an 
object  of  melancholy  reflection  to  the  English  Conservatives, 
who  view,  with  dismay  and  alarm,  the  crusading  spirit  of  the 
member  for  Merthyr  ;  the  ecclesiastical  brigandage  of  the 
member  for  Swansea,  the  smiling  co-operation  of  Sir  John  Jones 
Jenkins ;  the  dangerous  silence  of  Mr.  Charles  Herbert  James ; 
the  malignant  reticence  of  Mr.  John  Roberts;  and  the 
revolutionary  practices  of  the  Judge  Advocate-General.  Of 
course,  the  Welsh  Conservatives,  who,  weakened  by  the 
•disasters  of  1880|  are  unable  to  stem  the  Radical  advance,  still 


OUR  "RED  DRAGONS"  AT  WESTMINSTER.      575 

look  for  aid  and  encouragement  to  good  Whigs  like  Sir  Henry 
Hussey  Vivian,  but  the  hon.  baronet  the  member  for  Glamorgan- 
shire has  just  now  occupied  his  mind  with  "  Counts."  I  do  not 
mean  by  these  the  article  of  German  manufacture,  but  the 
species  of  "  Counts  "  in  which  Mr.  Biggar,  and  other  enemies  of 
public  business,  are  prone  to  indulge  their  industrial  faculties. 
Sir  Henry  has  demonstrated  to  the  Prime  Minister  that 
^* Counts  out"  should  be  put  down,  a  proposition  which  Mr. 
Richard  and  Mr.  Dillwyn  cordially  support,  but  with  an 
unlawful  object.  As  Viscount  Emlyn  brightly  and  effectively 
puts  it,  "counts  are  our  only  protection  now.  If  it  were  not  for 
this  providential  means  of  putting  an  end  to  political 
privateering  in  the  House,  the  Statute  Book  would  soon  be 
over-run  with  buccaneering  Acts  of  Parliament." 

The  House  will  adjourn  to-night  for  the  WTiitsuntide  recess. 
The  practical  legislation  of  the  period  following  the  Easter 
recess  has  consisted  of  the  Tenants  Compensation  Bill,  which 
has  been  explained  by  Mr.  Dodson,  and  damned  by  Mr. 
Gladstone's  followers  beyond  all  hope  of  its  second  reading. 

A.   Pexdragon. 
House  ofCommonSf  May  llfA,  1883. 


DRACONIGENJS. 


LINES  TO  THE  WELSH  HARP. 

**IA1TH  ENAID  AR  El  THANNAU  "  ("THE  LANGUAGE  OF  A  SOCI 

UPON  ITS  STRINGS.") 


Delight  of  Cambria  I  Harj)  of  ancient  days  ! 

Uttering,  ere  Romans  trod  ourisland's  shore, 
Devotion's  sacred  tones  in  lofty  lays, 

Content's  glad  voice  and  stirring  notes  of  war ! 

In  earnest  ever,  still  to  feeling  true, 

From  age  to  age  thy  hallowed  chords  have  borne 
The  spirit — power  of  music  ever  new 

As  nature's  echoes,  meeting  sweet  return. 

The  pathos  of  the  past,  emotions  rife, 

Which  cast  enchantment  o'er  the  present  hour  ; 

Futurity's  bright  hope,  ennobling  life. 

Speak  from  thy  magic  frame  with  thrilling  power. 

Thy  country's  harmonies  her  music  knows. 

Soft  as  the  ripple  of  her  sunny  streams. 
Fresh  as  the  breeze  round  Cadair  Arthur  blows, 

Ecstatic  as  the  soaring  skylark's  dreams : 

Wild  as  the  cataract,  yet  gentle,  too, 

As  glittering  wreaths  which  fall  in  silvery  spray ; 
From  sounds  her  scenery  rises  still  to  view 

In  all  its  glorious,  serene  array. 

Thy  country's  story  in  thy  music  lives, 

Thy  nation's  spirit  animates  thy  frame, 
Memory  to  the  immortal  record  gives. 

And  hope  anticipates  thy  future  fame  I 

The  Cymry  still  a  people  shall  remain, 

And  hold  wild  Wales  through  good  and  ill  secure, 

Their  language  they  shall  keep,  their  harp  retain. 
The  bards  declare,  while  earth  and  time  endure ! 

YsOAfKLL. 


IMPORTANT   NOTICE. 


The  Editor  has  determined  to  svpply  the  place  of  the 
English  serial  hyshoi't  stoi^ies  of  Welsh  llfe^  scene^  or  character^ 
The  first  of  these ^  entitled  "Married  wy  Advertisement,  a 
Story  of  a  Wf:LSH  i>PA"by  ^*'Gwynllwyn^'^will  be  begun  in  our 
next  issuey  and  finished^  if  possible^  ioi  the  one  following,  We 
predict  f 01*  it  a  most  favourable  reception  f row,  all  readers^  and 
from  lady  readers  in  particular. 


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